


Angel at the End of Time

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Drama, M/M, Norse Myths & Legends, Post S7, Romance, Spoilers: S8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which Gabriel lost his soul, Castiel is a puzzle and Dean is dead, some of the time. Sam... he's mostly confused. Sam is pulled into a family feud which looks suspiciously like an apocalypse—just multitudes bigger and with a bonus rogue demi-god, a devil without a cage, and a King of Hell with a sudden interest for yarn and Ornithology. With Dean fighting for his life, Sam must lead the war against Heaven's most recent enemy. And as if that wasn't enough, Sam and Dean have encounters with an invincible foe that alter their lives forever: that strange little thing called love...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel at the End of Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Mild spoilers for S8. Going slightly AU from end S7 (and in assuming that angels might have something that resembles a soul). 
> 
>  
> 
> Written for the amazing Seleneheart, whose great art immediately presented me with this huge bunny. I loved writing for her and I love her art even more. Different, deep, wonderful. A great honour to work with such a talented artist. 
> 
> Link to Seleneheart's [art journal](http://acme-graphics.livejournal.com/40956.html) and the wonderful additional pieces she created for the fic while I was working on it.
> 
> Thanks a million to my darling Kabal for beta.Thanks for being there when needed, hon (and the rest of the time, too). <3

**1\. Omens and Omissions**

Sam stretched, scratched his stomach and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He rubbed his eyes, still half asleep. He made his way over the cold floor to the bathroom. He splashed some even colder water on his face in a vain attempt to wake up. He was damned tired. They had taken a ghoul down the night before and his body was aching still from the fight. He had a large bruise on the left cheek. He'd slept like dead and he still felt like it. The cold water made him gasp and he felt revived, if not exactly comfortable. He padded back into the bedroom and grabbed the kettle from the kitchen counter in the corner. He filled the rusty kettle with water, put it on the hotplate, and sat down at the table, waiting for the water to boil. He needed coffee and he needed it now.

Dean was asleep in the bed next to Sam's. The room smelled slightly of sweat and blood and of too many hours awake, stale. Sam got up with a groan, walking stiffly to open a window. Outside the sky was dark; heavy rain clouds loomed low and threatening over the town, the clouds stretching as far as Sam could see. The frame was stuck, as if it had been a long time since anyone had thought it to be a good idea, airing out the room properly. The scent of rain filled the small room: a nice change.

The kettle announced with a whistle that the water was ready. Sam rummaged around in his bag for the jar of instant coffee he'd brought with him. It was a vile thing; it was all for the caffeine. There was no cups so Sam pulled out two glasses. One had a large dent in it. He sloshed water and coffee in both glasses, hoping the dented one wouldn't break.

"Dean? You awake?" Sam kicked lightly at the side of the bed. "We should get going; the weather looks as if it's going to be really bad." Being caught in a thunderstorm, stuck in a dingy motel wasn't exactly Sam's idea of great fun. Not that they had anything else to do than to find a hunt and another motel, but at least it probably wouldn't be raining.

"I wanna sleep," Dean growled. "Go away. I _am_ asleep; go do some research."

"I made coffee," Sam said. "Still hot."

"You're not going to leave me alone before I'm up, are you?" Dean sighed and turned in bed, kicking off the comforter. "How can you be so damned chipper at six in the morning? Cut down on the crack, bro!"

"It's ten, Dean. Get up and let's get out of here before we're caught. There's a thunderstorm coming. Doesn't look good."

"Oh, really? And I don't think I feel too good." Dean groaned and sat up in a rustle of sheets. He fluffed the pillows and pushed them up against the headboard, sitting back, looking pale and tired. "Oh, man. It's like I've been kicked in the head by a mule. We're sure that they were just stray ghouls, yeah?"

"Just ghouls. Nothing strange about them," Sam said, "apart from them being ghouls. Sure you didn't drink too-" He cut himself off. There was no such thing; there was no way Dean could drink himself into feeling that kind of sick, at least not with the amount of beer they'd had yesterday. And Dean's intestines were galvanized. "For real? Not just because you're a lazy bastard? Maybe you've got the flu or something?"

Dean shook his head and winced. "Doesn't feel like flu. Gimme something to drink. Water. And medicine. Any medicine. As long as it makes my head stop spinning. Oh, yeah, and the coffee while you're at it!"

"Since you ask so nicely, jerk," Sam said sarcastically and grabbed his bag. He considered for a moment who he was going to call. Something was _wrong_ , really wrong. This wasn't Dean. Dean didn't complain about a headache. Sam rummaged through his stuff, triumphantly holding up a bottle of Advil. "Got it!" He threw the bottle on the bed and fetched one of the glasses of coffee for Dean. "You weren't bitten or anything?" he asked as he put the glass down on the bedside table. "When did it start? You were all right when we came back from the hunt?"

"Oh, yeah. Except for being bloody, sore and having taken a punch to the face? All fine." Dean shook out a few Advil and threw them into his mouth. He took a large gulp of coffee and swallowed. "Sorry. I just don't feel..." Dean closed his eyes, groaning, tense lines marring his brow. "Just an hour, Sammy? I'll be fine."

"I better go buy some food, then. And water." Sam looked at the dark sky. A powerful flash of lightning lit up the horizon. The faint sound of thunder was barely audible. The storm was still far away. "I'd rather not drive in that and you look like you shouldn't." Sam nodded in the general direction of the windows. "We could wait until tomorrow... finding a new hunt? Ride it out here?"

"Mmm," Dean murmured, clearly half asleep. "Chicken. And I wish Cas was here. He'd have kissed it better."

"Cas is gone," Sam said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Like so many others—hunters, angels and friends—Cas was gone; to where, neither of them knew. Dead or hurt or imprisoned. Ripped to pieces in Purgatory, maybe. No matter how many favors they had tried cash in nobody was willing to share the information. It was one of the losses they had to deal with and Sam knew that it had been hard for Dean to get through: the loss of Cas would stay forever. Less painful, perhaps, but always there. And Dean wasn't through; he'd been so close to Cas. With a sad smile Sam looked at his brother, his eyes narrowing for a moment. Perhaps he'd really meant it, that Cas could kiss it better? Sam dismissed the thought. No. Cas had been their friend, nothing more. Dean's very dear friend. Which in itself had been more than enough. Friends were precious and they'd stuck together, despite everything they had done, despite of everything Cas had done. Said a lot about Cas, that he'd stayed with them through apocalypses and trips to Hell and Heaven. If only they could find a way to get him back, they'd do everything to make it happen.

Sam grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. He glanced at his sleeping brother once more, his face relaxed and without the hard, tense expression that seemed to be his default expression these days. Dean looked worn and strangely vulnerable. Perhaps Dean hadn't guarded his words? Perhaps he'd really meant... he and Cas had been so close before their fallout.

Sam shook his head. It was ridiculous. Dean and Cas? No. He grabbed the key to the room and went to get food to last them a day or three. Just in case.

It was the thunder that finally did it. He'd been hovering for too long, lost in the state of being unliving. It took him time to care. The constant thunder that he felt but didn't hear was just annoying enough to make him aware. It was easier not to bother since being dead was quite overrated and caring just made him long for being alive. Being dead was, in fact, both confusing and boring, not to mention lonesome and quite straining. Gabriel knew the universe. He'd been here almost from the beginning and there was little he didn't know about the worlds and dimensions and the vast darkness that surrounded him. All that he could live with. Not literally speaking, of course, that was the general idea of being dead—not being alive. Being dead was overrated because it was so damned exhausting to keep track of every atom, every speck of grace of his that was now shattered all over the universe (and if Gabriel wasn't mistaken, a few photons outside it as well). His soul had gone into hiding somewhere and was impossible for him to track in his current state of dissolution. 

In one of his more clear moments it amused him. It was probably karma being a bitch for his fucking with Shrödinger's cat (not literally, obviously, although the cat had been very charming and pretty). Now he, too, was a prime example of quantum superposition, existing partly in all his theoretically possible states at the same time, but unable to rebuild himself into the several beings he once were, unexploded and exploding simultaneously. Repeatedly he watched himself becoming Gabriel before he once more watched his being shatter into pieces. So there it was: being dead was definitely overrated. And exhausting. Gabriel was getting tired of it, and fast.

He was resting in a state where he was neither god, nor angel, neither Gabriel, nor not. The perks of being immortal. Neither truly dead, nor alive. The particles of his being were pulsing through the universe, like ducks sleeping on the surface of the ocean. He welcomed the distraction when the thunder woke him up; at first it was energy, lightning flashing. Then something moved, something darker than the universe, something old and eternal, something born before even he was born. The flutter of wings and a scream so dissonant and cruel that the universe shook pulled him out of his lethargic pondering, causing his atoms to rush towards each other; suddenly so determined in their wish to become one. More lightning followed, darkness and light, black and white, life and death. In the middle of the strange, otherworldly thunder he thought he heard the hard beat of fast hooves disappearing in the soundless void.

Gabriel sensed his being and his mind melting together, embracing like old friends. Pieces of what he once were sought out other pieces and he could feel himself healing, constantly coming closer to the state of being himself. His body became physical and he took a deep breath, a breath without oxygen but filled with _life_.

"Memory," he breathed without sound, remembering exactly who he was and who had pulled him together. "Muninn!"

The wings that were but darkness once more swept over him and his mind became clear and bright and fresh. "Thought." The word disappeared into the nothingness of the universe, but he had no problem following. He rode the word into the eternal night, following his own thought, holding on to the inaudible sound of wings. For an eternity he flew. Stars were born and stars died, and all the time he grew, remembering little things and great, feeling his body quicken.

And suddenly, there it was, the small blue planet, the realm where he'd met his fate. " _Lucifer_ ," he hissed angrily before the small planet once more disappeared as wings swept him up and away to yet another realm.

It was harsh and cold and the darkness of the night was looming over him as he fell. The sky closed above him and he landed on the ground, rocks and ice cutting into his flesh. He laughed at the pain, rejoicing. He was alive again, physical, blood pounding red and warm through his veins. Slowly he got up, standing straight. He was naked, but he didn't care. Again wings fluttered, and a cloak woven of the softest feathers and of the early dawn wrapped itself around him.

In the darkness the sound of steps reached him. It was the muted sound of hooves in deep snow, a crisp crunching as a dim light approached. A sole lantern swung from a long staff, casting soft shadows on the frozen ground. Gabriel smiled. He knew who was behind this, his recreation.

He stepped forward, a cruel smile on his thin lips as he bowed slightly, no deference in it at all. He stared at the being in front of him coldly. "Good to see you again, _Brother_."

Sam walked back to the motel. He was carrying two gigantic bags filled to the brim and two bottles of whiskey, one stuck under each arm. He should have snagged the keys to the Impala from Dean. Oh, well. Now it was too late, and as long as the weather didn't get any worse and the bags didn't break he'd be fine. The air felt heavy and warm, as if every intake of breath was charged with rain and electricity. Balancing his loot on one arm, careful not to drop the bottles, he managed to open the door to the motel room. He threw the keys on the table. A look at Dean reassured Sam. Dean was still asleep, breathing softly into the pillows. The air con was coughing out cool air from one corner, making the damp heat a bit more tolerable. 

Stuffing groceries into the small fridge, Sam looked up as a thunderclap made the windows rattle. "Shit," he gasped; he hadn't expected the storm to catch up so fast. Outside the sky had turned yellowish gray and a few heavy raindrops hit the glass hard. Sam stood and went to close the door. He considered for a moment whether he should wake Dean, but decided against it. If the weather was going to be this bad, Dean needed the sleep he could get _now_.

Another flash of lightning ripped the sky apart and the roar of thunder followed it immediately. Sam put down the bottle of milk he was holding and went to pull the plug from the laptop. Wouldn't do to lose it, especially not if they were stuck here for a day or three. A bit concerned about the entire situation, Sam made himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the small table. He flipped open the laptop but managed only to stare vacantly at the screen.

Dean made small, strained noises in his sleep and turned weakly, as if the mere movement was too much for him. Outside, the rain was turning into a torrential downpour. Violent gusts of wind sent showers of heavy drops against the windows and thunderclouds hang low and looming over the town. Dean didn't wake. By habit and without thinking, Sam pulled out his cell phone, quickly scrolling down to Bobby's number before he remembered that he, too, was gone. He should delete the entry. Sighing, Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alone, not counting every damned time Dean and he had been separated by death and destruction and demons. Of all their friends, Sam missed Bobby the most, missed his clear mind and his gruff, but always clever advice. Bobby would probably have told him that he was an idiot and demanded he'd let Dean sleep.

Another thunderclap made the entire building rattle. Sam closed the laptop and pulled the chair over to the window. He sat down again with the glass of coffee in one hand, resting his head on the other as he looked out into the storm. The center of it seemed to be just above them. Large pools of water were already flooding the parking lot. Another flash of lightning and a tree across the street went up into flames as the lightning struck. "Christ, that was close," Sam breathed quietly, as if not to wake up Dean. He laughed softly. If the thunder hadn't yet done the job, then Dean certainly wouldn't wake up just because Sam was speaking aloud. Finally Sam managed to put two and two together: it hadn't been a coincidence or a slip that he'd tried to call Bobby. Sam realized that he wasn't just worrying about Dean, he was worrying about the entire setup. Dean was sleeping too heavily and the strange weather was too sudden and too violent. Okay, so going through an apocalypse or two sorta made one a bit paranoid, but Sam still thought that safe was better than sorry. When he thought of it, he'd had this feeling of things being wrong for a day or two; maybe that was why he'd wanted to leave early.

Keeping an eye on Dean, Sam pulled up one leg, wrapping his arms around it as he thoughtfully considered their options. No angels, no Bobby. No Jo, Ellen or Pam. No Ash. Summoning demons to find out what the hell was going on was not an option, not until or unless things got really hairy. Sam didn't call in the dark side, acting on a weak suspicion of something being wrong. Kevin had enough to do as it was; the kid had problems and Sam didn't want to add to them, and what could he possibly do? Crowley.... No. Sam dismissed the notion immediately. He stood and went over to the cupboard. He grabbed some salt, just in case, and went to spread a thin layer in front of the door and along the window frames.

"Sam?" Dean called out, an almost inaudible sound, drowned out by the rain and the thunder. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam put down the salt. "You all right?" He sat down on the side of the bed. "You don't look too well."

"I- I don't feel too good, Sam." Dean closed his eyes. He was pale.

Sam pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're burning. Does it feel like you have a fever?"

"What are you? My mother?" Dean looked like a kitten who tried to impersonate a tiger.

"No." Sam pressed his lips together in a tense grimace. "But I'm your brother and I'm worried. You're never sick."

"Salt?"

"A precaution."

Dean groaned. "The storm is not-"

"Don't know. I wish we had someo-"

"Shut up." Dean sat up, an exercise that was too much for him. He curled up, breathless, before a coughing fit shook his body and set off an attack of violent cramps.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam was helpless, trying not to panic as Dean's coughing stopped all too suddenly. He wasn't breathing! Dean needed a doctor. Ambulance. Now!

The roar of thunder rolled over the motel and the sharp glimpses of lightning flashed constantly. Dean hung limply in Sam's arms, lifeless like a rag doll. Sam fumbled for his cell, wanting the emergency call to go through before it was too late. The silence on the line was brutal. Another flash. The thunder seemed to hang on to it and the small motel room suddenly felt as if it was flooded with sound and power. Sam gasped for air, the hair on his head crackling with static electricity.

"Fuck!" Sam cried out, holding on to Dean's body.

"God!" Dean suddenly took a deep breath, coughed once more, then turned away from Sam on all four and made a choking noise.

The sound of Dean's strained breathing was the best sound Sam had heard all his life. "Dean, are you- are you all right?" Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and helped him sit.

"What the hell," Dean said.

"Uhm-" Sam managed. "What _is_ that?" Sam looked at the bed. Something that looked like a tiny bundle of slimy yarn lay on the comforter.

Dean scratched his chin, his breathing more even. "Dunno." He poked at the bundle with the tip of his finger. "I think I coughed it up."

"Gross," Sam said. "So, what do we do with it? Salt and burn? Unless of course you put it there for reasons I so don't want to know about."

"Soak it in holy water and detergent for half an hour," Dean suggested. "And then we find out who put it there."

Outside, the rain and the thunder had stopped entirely. Sam glanced out the window. He could see a spot of blue sky. "So, you're saying that you're not in the habit of eating yarn," Sam half-joked. "Very comforting. As I recall it you had an odd idea about going to see the world's biggest ball of yarn once, so."

"Yeah, you're funny, Sam." Dean swatted Sam on the shoulder. He seemed much better. "If you're done fussing, let's go get the assholes who did this."

"On it," Sam said and grabbed the laptop.

The only problem was that he had no idea about where to begin and whom to ask for help.

The snow fell soft and cold and heavy against his skin. His bare feet felt oddly cold. He wasn't used to feeling cold. Gabriel looked to the sky, letting the sprinkle of winter dampen his cheeks. He took a deep breath and pulled away from the reverie of something as simple as snowflakes falling on his upturned face. There were other and more pressing tasks at hand, now that he was alive again. To begin with he _could_ attempt finding the answer to why he was settled with a number of brothers, one more annoying and demanding than the other. For this one brother, however, he could blame none other than himself. 

He looked at the man in front of him. They were not brothers by blood and then again they were. He had taken the oath willingly. He tried to remember why. A black bird passed him by and the memory returned as if the bird had carried it back to him. Gabriel had taken the blood oath, one slit hand against another, out of love for the man who, thus, became his brother. Somehow he could no longer find traces of that love anywhere. This brother of his... Gabriel did no longer see why it had been so important to tie himself to him. He was weak and powerless and Gabriel wasn't. He felt strong and new and switchblade-sharp.

Gabriel remembered his manners and the language he once spoke with his sworn brother. " _Oðin. Ásgarðs jöfurr, Valhallar vísi._ " Gabriel's voice was low and cool, as if the snow and the ice had imprinted themselves on him, making him unable to feel any warmth. He made a curt nod towards his brother. Yes, Odin was the ruler of Ásgard and the lord of Valhalla, but he was not _family_. What he was was _useful_.

"Loki. Brother." Odin urged the horses forward. He dismounted, one hand on the neck of the horse he'd been riding, one hand outstretched towards Gabriel.

Gabriel stepped forward too, clasping hands with the ruler of the realm. "Your doing, this, my quickening?"

"Mine. I have not forgotten the magic of my father. We raised a sea of blood and from it Midgard was born. From the flesh of the first we drew forth the land. Brother, making you return to us was but a wish, a simple spell in the book of seið."

It was a lie, of course. If Odin's power had been that strong he'd be the ruler of the universe. No god was that strong, not even his own father, Lucifer's and Michael's father, not in his current state of absence. And Odin had no power like it. Recreating himself after Lucifer's murder-spree was all he could manage and from the look of it, sending out the strength that had made Gabriel able to collect his atoms from every corner of the universe had cost the self-proclaimed All-Father more than he was willing to let Gabriel know. Odin was a warrior king, not a weakling and weakness was to be hidden at all costs, but the lines of fatigue in Odin's face stood out clearly. Odin was getting old and tired.

Gabriel's mind, cold and clear as if a snowfall had began inside him as well, did not produce any warm feelings. Instead it presented a plan. A beautiful crystal-clear plan. "Of course my lord," Gabriel said softly, deliberately sounding subdued, as if Odin's bragging actually mattered to him. "You have my eternal gratitude."

"Come with me to Valhalla," Odin asked, making it sound like an order. "We will feast in your honor, we will suckle at the teats of Heithrún the goat, her mead will run clear and plentiful. We will boil the best of boars, we will eat the bacon of Sæhrímnir's back; we will dine at the high table with my einherjar celebrating your return."

Oh, Gabriel could think of little he'd rather not do. Eating a live pig while a goat was dripping mead on the table _and_ on top of that putting up with a bunch of talentless warriors who'd already been killed once in battle was not Gabriel's idea of fun. Odin only drank wine, so why Gabriel was supposed to think that bacon and mead was something to long for was beyond him. No, Gabriel would rather do something truly useful, like taking over world domination. Or start a fire to see the piss ants run mad from confusion. He smiled a fake smile. "I'd be delighted, Brother. You honor me." If he could get rid of all those pesky brothers, his life would be so much more pleasant.

"Let us ride, then," Odin said and turned to his horse once more.

"Wait," Gabriel said, taking a step forward.

Odin turned, frowning. "Loki? Are you well?"

Gabriel had never been better. His mind felt cold and clean and all the confusion he'd felt before, when he'd been an angel was gone. "You've brought my son."

"I have."

"I would like to greet him before we go."

"As you wish." Odin stepped away from his horse.

Gabriel's sense of humor took over. "Sleipnir," he murmured softly as the stallion made a deep sound at his approach. "I trust you are well?" He let his hands slide over the horse's neck. "Odin's been good to you." Sleipnir looked great, not surprisingly. He was after all a god's offspring. No horse in Asgard, Midgard or Jotunheim was better or more swift than Sleipnir, the king of all horses. "My son." Sleipnir had been a gift of consolation for Odin after one of Loki's more unfortunate pranks and Gabriel had found it quite entertaining to create the foal.

Impatient, Sleipnir kicked the ground with a few of his eight legs. "Time to go." Gabriel grinned and rolled his eyes. "Children nowadays. No respect for their elders and betters."

Odin showed with the wave of a gloved hand that Gabriel could take one of the other horses. Fewer legs, less fuss. Gabriel took the reins of a nice chestnut and swung himself into the saddle. "I'll race you." He plastered on his face a friendly smile. He was an accomplished liar and it was as if the lies came so much easier to him now, as if that part of his nature was filtered out, purified into lies and deceit and menace. It felt liberating to be rid of the empathy and the mercy that had always been the redeeming part of his personality. The angel part.

"Race, but not win," Odin laughed and Sleipnir took off.

Oh, Gabriel would let Odin win. He'd let Sleipnir win. He needed both of them. There would be no cheating or tricks as would have been his habit for he could not beat Odin in a fair fight. For the briefest moment Gabriel could not stop himself from feeling sad that his love for Odin was gone. This, their unexpected meeting... it was almost like _before_ , when Loki lived in Asgard. Almost. Except Gabriel felt cold and annoyed. Lucifer had been right about setting fire to things: this realm of ice and snow would be so much more pleasant when it burned. Ice and fire. And grilled horse meat tasted so much better than some old boar.

Gabriel could hardly wait.

 

**2\. A Raven at Nighttime**

The sound of swords against shields ceased and the einherjar raised their blades in a silent greeting of the god they had thought lost to them. Gabriel sat down at Odin's right hand. It was odd how he had missed the formality of Asgard's court, so strangely detached from the world and the humans he'd once loved so much. Of course it wasn't nearly as formal as his father's court, although it could be argued whether such a thing as a court existed in Heaven. Somehow Christ had had a rather democratic influence in that regard. Not that Gabriel didn't appreciate that the high and mighty were taken down a notch; that was after all how he'd spend a good chunk of his time as a pagan god, reminding men and women in power that the possession of said power wasn't necessarily a constant. Gabriel certainly appreciated seeing an arrogant bastard bite the dust. But he had other plans now, bigger.

Gabriel reached for a horn. He downed the content. The mead was sweet and spicy. He leaned back in the fur-covered chair, listening to his brothers.

"That Lucifer," Odin told Thor at his left, "was forceful. He had nothing but loathing for us, the first gods. He thought us below him. But do we not have our own halls? Do we not have our own _Hel_?" Odin reached back without looking, stroking the raven that perched on the back of his throne. He took a bit of meat and offered to the bird. "We are the gods who were here before him, and we are the gods who will be here after. He underestimated us, the filthy creation. What arrogance to think he could outwit me. He thought me dead, just as he thought my brother dead." Odin picked yet another piece of meat, holding out his hand. The raven fluttered down to tear at the grilled pork. "My thoughts and my memories are kept here, with my ravens. As long as they persist, how could I die? How could my beloved brother die as long as he is in my thoughts and my memory?"

Thor laughed. "As if one fallen angel would be a match for a pantheon of gods and for you, Odin, the master of Seiðr, the old magic? No, All-Father, he certainly underestimated you." Thor grabbed a piece of Sæhrímnir's flesh. He bit into it before he continued. "He is kept in chains in his prison, I have heard."

"So he is," Odin said. "A fitting punishment for such a vile creature. Caged and bound for eternity." Odin cut a piece of bacon and threw it at the straw-covered floor for his wolves to take. The two huge animals snarled and snapped at each other, not entirely serious about the fighting.

"Freki, Geri, stop," Odin demanded and threw another piece at them to keep the peace.

"I wish to see my other children," Gabriel said suddenly, watching the lesser wolves. His son, Fenrir the wolf, was different from Odin's tame wolves. Like Sleipnir, Fenrir was magnificent. Loki turned his head and looked at Odin. "Why are they not here?" His eyes glowed golden fire, but all Gabriel felt was this cold, icy anger that grew inside him. "I see all my brothers and sisters here, my friends and yours. I see your children, but not mine." Gabriel stood, looking down at the All-Father. "Are my children not good enough? Are they not creatures worthy of respect and honor? Are they not my offspring, dear to me as is the rest of my family?"

On his right side, Idun intervened. "We meant no offense, brother. The wolf is a danger to Odin; the World Serpent... you know well that he cannot be contained here." Idun's voice was calm and soft. Gabriel could smell her apple-sweet breath, as she leaned closer to him. Her nose wrinkled. "As for the goddess Hél..."

The cold anger inside Gabriel felt like frozen metal, a sword plunged into his chest. This was not what he had expected from those who were supposed to be his family and friends. It had always been like that, he realized; his children would never be good enough for Odin. He had use for his children and they were not here. Gabriel turned to the All-Father. "By your leave. I cannot sit here, waiting for those I hold dear. Lend me Sleipnir so that he can bring me safely to Hel and back. I will forgive you for the slight, but my hurt will only be mended if I lay eyes upon my beloved Hél and her brother. I wish to reassure myself that she is well. Until then, forgive me, for I cannot dine at the table of those who disrespect my bloodline."

Odin stood. His eyes were night-dark, cold like the deep, frozen sea. "For you, beloved brother, I have moved _destiny_. For you I have cast aside mountains, set fire to the sea. For you I have cut up the weave of the world, entangled your destiny in your thread of fate, bringing you back to my hand. For you I have mourned since the fallen angel cast you into the void." Odin's fingers moved to touch the tip of the spear he had leaning against his throne, as if he considered stabbing Gabriel with the weapon. "One thing I did not understand until now: there is a vast difference between what you once were and what you have become. You are less now, Loki. You are my dark side, my demons and my rage, my demon wisdom and my black magic." Odin leaned heavily on the spear Gungnir; an unspoken threat. "Once you were my poetry and my ecstasy. Once you had love and forgiveness and care in you. No longer, I see."

Odin reached out and placed his hand over Gabriel's heart. It made him flinch.

Odin sat there, his warm hand against Gabriel's cold heart. "There is but a glacier where once your heart beat, Loki Laufeyson. I would that I could blame you this, but it is I who woke you up, I who let loose this empty vessel. I can only blame myself. You may go."

"To your hand?" Gabriel looked at Odin, part disbelieving, part distraught. "I am not yours to have. I am not your property, All-Father. I never were." Gabriel's mind was already busy making new plans. Gabriel's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Have you forgotten the prophecy, All-Father? Or must I remind you of what it might cost you, this... hostility? You should show me reverence."

Thor got up from his seat, slamming one gigantic fist into the heavy oak table. The plates rattled and a horn or two turned over, spilling sweet mead on the table. "Enough!"

"Enough?" Gabriel glared icily at Thor. "When those who are dear to me no longer wish for my company and my advice? No, Thor. It will _never_ be enough." A stream of mead ran sloppily over the edge of the high table and down onto the floor. and pooled around Gabriel's right foot. Gabriel took a deep breath, relishing in the fact that it had been so _easy_ to push the events to this breaking point. "One word, Thor, one you might not like very much: _Ragnarok_."

"Bring it." Thor hissed and reached for his hammer, to no avail.

"Lost something?" Gabriel glanced at the hook in Thor's belt on which the Hammer usually hung. Empty. Gabriel recalled briefly when he, centuries ago, had helped Thor getting back his hammer which the jótunn Thrymr had 'mislaid' for him. Gabriel smiled, gleeful. Yet another small event turning things in his favor. "I bid you all a good night," he said, retreating before Thor got violent. Gabriel could deal with Thor, but he'd prefer to avoid the brute. He ignored the gigantic warrior and looked instead at Odin. "I will return Sleipnir to your care when I reach Hel. Despite the animosity you feel towards me, I will let him continue to serve you. I, however, will not." Gabriel wrapped the black feather cloak around himself. He stood there, alone, a small fragile god amongst giants. "Prepare. For I hold in my hand _your_ death," he said, this time not caring to bow to Odin. "It might come sooner than you think."

Thus severing the tie to his brother, he left Valhalla without looking back. He had no regret and no sorrow. He had only this clear, cold feeling that made him reach for the power that he so easily could take. What fun it would be to start Ragnarok. Midgard would die and rise again, green and new, and with a new ruler. Gabriel liked the idea. He'd like to be in charge for once. All he could feel was the allure of the power—and the memory of fluttering wings that woke in him the need for love was but a distraction, gone as quickly as it came.

But first he would ride. Sleipnir would take him where only the strongest and fastest of horses could go, to Hél. Gabriel needed his daughter for this and who would be more appropriate to help him than Hél, the ruler of Hel? Some people loved family reunions, others hated them. Gabriel understood only too well the reasons. But this might be a meeting he would like. After he'd visited Hél in the Underworld, he would go find his sons Fenrir and Jormungand the World Serpent.

And _then_ he would raise Hel and show his blood-brother what family could be like.

"What is this shit?" Dean held up one end of a long thread of yarn. "Unless you crammed it down my throat while I was sleeping, I have no idea-" 

"Yeah, Dean. That's how I roll. Thrusting things into people's throats while they lay in bed." Sam shut his mouth, realizing what, exactly, he was saying. He _did_ roll his eyes, though. "There was no signs of ghosts or anything supernatural, except for that thunderstorm. Totally weird."

Dean looked a bit worse for wear, as if the sudden sickness still lingered. He rubbed the thick thread between his fingers. "Flax, perhaps. Don't think it's dyed."

"Nah." Sam picked up the other end of the thread, picking at the end. "Wool in it too." He used a nail to separate the fibers. "Yeah, I'm sure." He ran the end through his fingers, trying to make sense of the piece. "These knots? Seems like a pattern, deliberate."

"So now you're a specialist on knitting, Samantha? The thread's been cut and tied together," Dean pointed out. "Several places." He tried to count. When he reached a hundred, he stopped.

Sam ignored the teasing. "I tried to search for _thunder_ and _yarn_ and unless you've annoyed the owners of a yarn store in Thunder Bay, Ontario, I've got no clue to, well, anything and neither has Google."

"Fuck, I feel dizzy," Dean said. "I need a beer. And to lie down." He got up, fumbling for support. He managed to get a hold of the back of the chair he'd been sitting in before his knees gave and he sank down on the floor, groaning desperately. He'd felt good for a little, but it was as if this dizziness was yo-yoing all over the place. Not natural. 

"Dean!" Sam's slight worry was turning into a more urgent, desperate one. Kneeling down to help Dean get up, one arm around his waist, Sam was definitely worried. There wasn't even the slightest indication of what was causing Dean's weakness and that was definitely something to worry about. "Come on, let's get you into bed." Sam held up his brother until Dean flopped down on the mattress, eyes closed, arms spread out as if it was too much for him to move them. Sam pulled off Dean's boots and pulled the cover over him. Dean's breathing was heavy and strained.

"It's getting worse," Dean managed. "Like I'm a battery running out of power. Dead." He rubbed his eyes sluggishly, every move in slow motion. "Don't dare think of what happens when there's none left." He opened his eyes slightly, looking up at Sam through narrow slits. "Dunno... but I think you need to hurry, Sammy. And promise me, no deals with demons! Promise me! No demons. Not even Crowley." Even his voice was weak.

The defeat felt like a stab in the heart. Cold fear crept across Sam's skin, into his mind, clutching at his heart. "Dammit, Dean! You hang on!" Sam's desperation grew. Almost anyone who could have helped was gone. Heaven had clearly gone into a kind of _don't call us, we'll call you_ mode, not that there were anyone there who'd care to help them. Even the bastard Zachariah was gone, and God was still on vacation. Sam made sure Dean was as comfortable as possible before he returned to one of the rickety wooden chairs at the small table. He poked at the laptop, trying to think of a search term that would pull up something that was of help. It wasn't just that Sam felt clueless that nagged him, it was the fact that they were entirely out of friends and options that truly got to him.

Unless he called Crowley and Dean had explicitly forbidden it, not that it'd stop Sam from doing it if there were no other options. They had both been there, done that and both used the t-shirt to wipe up the crap the encounter had left them with. Speaking of options Crowley wasn't one. Until... Except...

Rubbing his face, Sam sighed deeply and leaned back against the backrest, closing his eyes. "If at least we-" He straightened up, almost shockingly fast, making the chair creak threateningly. "Inias, please? Inias, please, come down here, for the love of Cas! We need help! Fuck, why didn't we think of you earlier? Inias! If you ever were Cas's friend, please, help us!"

"Angels are dicks with wings," Dean murmured. "Never at hand when you need them." He stuffed a pillow under his head. "Gimme the whiskey," he demanded, no strength in the order. "If I'm going to die, I wanna die drunk."

"Don't. Don't be such a jerk. And you're not going to die," Sam said almost angrily. There was no conviction in his words; he was too worried. However, dying drunk was infinitely much better than dying being ripped apart by Hellhounds, so that one Sam could help with. And as there was no reply from Inias, he was either dead, deaf or simply didn't want to help. Sam could feel anger, sadness and desperation blend into a bitter irrepressible sensation. If he were to lose Dean, it should be in combat, during a hunt, but not like this, not without cause or foe. Not due to something so flighty and unknown as this strange power-draining that had hit his brother. The universe wasn't made up of fairness, but was it too much to demand a modicum of it, for once?

Sam gave up thinking and decided that it would be better to cater to Dean's whims, just in case. "Whiskey it is," he agreed. Probably couldn't hurt. Sam reached for the bottle and took a swig before he screwed on the cap and threw the bottle on the bed. Dean picked it up, almost as if it was too heavy for him to take. He managed to unscrew the cap, downing half of the content in one go. Sam raised an eyebrow. Quite the drink. Even for Dean. "Gonna try and drink yourself into oblivion?" he asked. He didn't need Dean to be closer to being unconscious. It was hard enough to deal with already. The both needed to be as sharp and clear as possible. Time was running out.

Dean burped. "Shut your face, bitch." The tone lacked the usual acerbic bite. He took another deep swig of the bottle. "It's my party."

"Yeah, let's party like there's no tomorrow," Sam growled, looking away to hide the tears burning in his eyes. He stared out the window, up into the blue sky outside the grimy glass. Sam could feel the tears pressuring in on him, tears he would never allow himself to shed, not in front of Dean. "And if there are any angels who'd like an invitation, now would be a good time to speak up!"

There was a loud flutter of wings. A flock of black birds took off outside as if something had startled them, the birds soaring towards the sky. Two of the birds, larger, their feathers blue-tinged by light, flew higher, faster, soon only two tiny, dark dots visible against the storm sky. "Didn't think there were ravens in this area," Sam remarked, speaking to no one in particular. Dean had other worries than the potential number of Corvus Corax in the Northern American biosphere.

"There aren't. It's a disturbance of the equilibrium."

"What the fuck!" Sam turned so fast he almost tripped over. "Equilibrium?" He managed not to reach for the demon knife, not that it would have done him any good anyway. "Inias? You came!"

"You called." Inias looked at Sam, expressionless. Then something that could be interpreted as worry flickered in his eyes. "I couldn't... until Joshua permitted me to go. He would like to speak with you both, if you don't mind?"

Dean had gained a bit of enthusiasm about his situation. "Not like we have a choice, is it?"

"Dean's a bit of a fixer-upper," Sam said. "There won't be much talking if he's dead." He sent Inias his best puppy-eyes. "So, fix him, please."

Inias looked very correct and stiff in the cheap suit he was wearing. Heaven didn't have much fashion-sense unless 'boring polyester blend' was the hottest new trend. "I am not-" Inias looked a little worried. "As I said, the equilibrium of the universe has been ruined. I don't have the power."

"So, not within your pay rate," Dean commented and tried to get up from the bed. He flopped back onto it with a sigh, gasping for air like a fish on land. "Some help here, you bitches!" He eyed Inias. "If you have the mojo to zap us anywhere, then do it and let's get it over with. To Joshua's garden, or?"

"Our Father's garden, yes. Joshua is waiting." He paused, as if he was insecure. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and pulled him up without any noticeable effort. He kept his arm around Dean's shoulder, making Dean look slightly uncomfortable. "I probably shouldn't tell you, but since Castiel was my friend... I know how he felt about you, Dean Winchester."

"How he- what?"

"He cared for you more than for any other human, Dean. Or angel. He'd want you to know. If we have a worst-case scenario on our hands, we have no time, and my brother would want you to know about his love for you. The universe is losing its balance. On a universal scale, it is most unfortunate and you should know."

Dean sagged a bit, his knuckles white as he clung to Inias, trying to keep standing. "He was my friend," Dean said softly.

Sam thought that Dean ignored the obvious in Inias's words. Somehow he knew already, although he didn't want to admit it, and he suspected that Dean did too. Castiel had not loved Dean as a brother. Not merely.

Dean's long silence confirmed that he had at least suspected that Cas's feelings had been more than just friendly. It took a few seconds before he said anything. As usual he ignored the core of the problem. No girl-moments filled with regret and longing for Dean Winchester.

Inias nodded. "We need to go. I am sorry, but we do have a situation. We are in trouble."

"We?" Dean asked. "As in Sam and me? Or as in the whole damned humanity in that apocalyptic way we don't care for?"

Inias sighed. "In that apocalyptic way. Earth. The universe. Time before time existed."

"Sonuvabitch." Dean looked even more exhausted. "Could I go back to sleep? If you wouldn't mind waking me up when you're done dealing with it."

"I am sorry, Dean, but Joshua asked for you and for your brother." Inias held out a hand to Sam. "As you humans say, sooner rather than later. Joshua will answer your questions."

Inias warm hand touched Sam's and they were all whisked away in a blur of wings and skies.

The rhythm of fast hooves on rocks suddenly became muted as Gabriel rode Sleipnir up from the dark tunnels of Hel. Gabriel relished in the speed and the pure strength of the horse. Sleipnir kicked up shards of ice as he paced quickly across the shimmering desert of snow that laid before them. The waning daylight had left the sky blood-red; a fitting tribute to Gabriel's new cause. His angelic abilities seemed to have waned too. Gabriel was strong, but it seemed to be the part of him that was Loki which currently had the most punch. The angel... was gone, it seemed. He'd fallen into the old (or new, seen from Gabriel's point of view) ways too easily, as if the Loki had full control over his personality. He didn't mind. His Loki part was the part of him which now had an army.

Gabriel rode Sleipnir forward until he reached a small hill in the middle of the snow-covered lava field. "Whoa," he told Sleipnir softly. "Hold it." Gabriel turned the horse around and looked towards the gates of Hel. Across the plains his army stretched; demon warriors, all set on proving their courage in combat. Gabriel was satisfied. His army by far outnumbered Odin's einherjer. Funny that, how Hel swallowed up the cowards and the weak, leaving Hél with so many citizens in her underworldly kingdom that no army in Asgard or Midgard was bigger. Under Gabriel's command, the demons would be invincible. As soon as he'd whipped the pitiful cowards into shape, that was.

"You there," Gabriel growled, pointing at a man who might once had been a handsome and strong fighter. "Your name."

"Mandsbane," the demon said, his eyes flashing neither black, nor yellow, but cold blue, like the northern lights. "Man's bane."

"You seem strong," Gabriel said. "Why are you not with the einherjar? Your name seems to indicate that you should be."

"Died a coward's death. In bed with my wife. I took the name when I came to Hel. Our queen does appreciate irony," the demon said. "Refused to participate in a family feud," he admitted, unashamed. He sniffed arrogantly. "But the idiots who did? They are now seated at the high table at Valhalla, like all the other mindless fools who'd rather fight than think."

Gabriel let out a cold laughter. "A man after my heart. You'll be my general. Find me a staff. Chose your men wisely. I will kill you if take one wrong step."

The tall demon smiled a satisfied, cruel smile. "And you one after mine, my lord. Cold, soulless, ruthless." He bowed deeply. "I will follow your lead. And I will not set a foot wrong, for I will follow the path of revenge."

"Find me a servant, a page, and set up camp." Gabriel snapped his fingers and conjured a pavilion for himself before he dismounted. With a tender caress, he sent Sleipnir on his way back to Odin. The horse had done what Gabriel had needed it to do: brought him safely to Hel and back, the only horse good enough to reach Hél's realm alive.

Not caring what the demons were doing, Gabriel stepped into his makeshift quarters. The good thing about a demon army was that they needed little in the sense of comfort. Gabriel, on the other hand, had been floating in the endless universe long enough to prefer a soft bed with warm furs and a room with a blazing fire, just as he liked a table with good, plentiful food. Something _finite_ and concrete. He waved a finger over the table he'd procured. Red wine, a bloody horse roast and bread, fruits and cheese appeared in a flash. He held out his hand and made himself a nice horn, standing on little silver feet. He poured the wine for himself. A nice Le Pin Pomerol 1999. The scent of mocha and black cherries was overwhelming and mouth-watering. As he sipped the wine, he sat down on the soft couch, pulling the heavy polar bear fur over his legs. It was warm and soft and cosy, not that he needed it, but luxury was a benefit of the gods. He liked overindulging, just for the principle of it.

He sank back into the velvet pillows. Things were going according to plan. He'd found himself an army of vengeful, mean-spirited demons, although he hadn't found it as much as stolen it. Hél hadn't been happy but Gabriel didn't care. Odin would not be the lord of Valhalla for much longer. When Gabriel had won, things were going to change here as well as in Midgard. _Soulless_ , Mandsbane had called him. Gabriel thought he preferred _sensible_. As Gabriel he'd been weighed down by his emotions. Those pesky Winchester boys had been able to talk him into their foolish scheme because of feelings. Feelings were deadly! If no soul meant that he was able to be analytic and determined, he could be without. He liked it that way. When he was done shaping his surroundings to his liking no one would dare do to him what his angelic brother had done, and no one would have the power. First Valhalla, then the rest of the universe. He would no longer be _a_ god. He would be _God_.

And damn it, if this messy place didn't need one. It was time somebody stepped up to take over the reins.

Outside the tent, Gabriel could hear Mandsbane ordering demons around. A tiny, young demon with pale moon-white eyes stepped inside the tent, kneeling before Gabriel. "At your service, my lord."

Gabriel nodded, indifferent. He motioned for the boy demon to serve him food. He ate in silence, suddenly so very tired. Perhaps it was no wonder since he only this morning had been a sprinkle of atoms, spread out through the known universe. Gabriel finished his meal and lay down again. "Tell Mandsbane to guard my tent. Wake me up at sunrise." He waved the servant out of the tent. They could plan tomorrow. Gabriel's army was so vast and strong that it didn't matter who knew they were here. They needed no weapons but fear.

As Gabriel fell asleep, his guard watching over him, he never saw the two large, black birds which crossed the night sky, softly carried on silent wings across the firmament.

 

**3\. God's General**

They had been there before, in the glasshouse in the botanical garden in Cleveland. Sam wondered whether it was constant summer here, in Heaven's version of it; the flowers were in full bloom, there were birds and butterflies between the branches. A raven eyed them suspiciously from it's nest high up in one of the trees. The place felt familiar and Sam relaxed visibly, his tense shoulders sank. Inias had put Dean next to him in a chair. Sam pushed at Dean's shoulder with a knee. "Dean," he hissed, trying to make his brother stop clinging to the bottle of cheap whiskey. "Joshua is coming."

Dean looked up lazily from the low Adirondack chair he was lounging in. "So?" The leaves of the tall trees above their heads painted a pattern of shadows on Dean's skin. His eyes looked very green and very tired. "It's nice to sit here."

"So perhaps you could try and be polite and stop acting like a fucking alcoholic." Sam's desperation had turned into annoyance. He had no idea about who was messing with them this time, and if they had to suck up to Joshua to find out, Sam was _so_ in. "Put the bottle away, dammit!"

God's gardener hadn't changed since they last saw him. "Sam, Dean. Nice to see you." Joshua's dark, calm voice was soothing in the same way that the warm sun and the soft shadows seemed to soothe Dean's sudden illness. The old angel's smile was kind. Joshua took Sam's hand and held it between his callused, rough palms. It felt safe, as if the mere touch brought Sam some relief. It made him wish that he could just sit down next to Dean and stop thinking about saving the world. It was a small taste of the peace he rarely felt; an instant of feeling whole instead of feeling broken and wrong.

"You, too, Joshua." Sam didn't think being rude or angry would get them far, no matter that he felt desperate and out of options. Joshua might be their last chance for help, and if Dean was precisely as far gone as Sam suspected, alienating any angels could very well cause Dean's death. Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder, secretly hoping that his brother would either shut up or fall asleep until they were done dealing with Joshua.

Inias hovered in the background as if he didn't know what to do. Joshua looked at him thoughtfully. "Inias told you that we have a problem?"

"Yeah. No details, though." Not that he truly cared. 'Apocalyptic catastrophe' was just about as detailed as Sam needed it. That, and perhaps the fastest way to the sign that said 'Exit'.

"I'm a simple gardener," Joshua said. "I know little about politics and scheming and power games. I listen to God. I make things grow. I like to see flowers thrive and trees bloom. I am a nurturer, not a warlord. I don't know how to lead an army, Sam Winchester, and right now I need someone who does. Someone willing to stand as God's general in the war that might come." He reached out and touched one of the trees, making it shiver and sprout a few new fresh branches. The air smelled of spring and sun.

Sam raised his face, looking up into the leaves and the sun, trying to make sense of what Joshua was telling them. "War? Why, Joshua? Hasn't there been war enough?" It was odd. Usually they'd have known a long time before things went pear-shaped. Hell, usually they were the _reason_ for it. Not this time, though. Nothing. No demon convergences, no natural disasters (not counting the violent thunderstorm, though). No dead angels or devils. No Crowley, no Death, no horsemen, any number of them.

"Not our doing, Sam." Joshua's eyes were sad. "I wish God was here. I cannot explain to you exactly how it happened; all I know is that the balance of the universe has been disturbed and that nothing good will come from it."

"And the apocalypse? Purgatory being fitted with swinging doors?"

"Local events," Joshua said. "A problem for God and us, for humankind, not for other gods. Not that it wasn't serious. But this new disturbance... it is threatening the universe, I believe."

"What about Dean? Does his sudden fatigue have anything to do with the disturbance?" Sam knew his priorities might be a bit skewed, but hadn't it always been like that? Family before universes.

"A symptom, I'm sure," Joshua said. "I understand why you might be worried."

"Worried? Yeah, you bet we're _worried_ ," Dean interrupted, growling the words at Joshua. He was showing a remarkable energy for someone in the middle of dying. "What are you going to do about my... symptom, then? Can't be much of a warlord if I'm dead."

"You are not going to be one, Dean Winchester," Joshua said, unperturbed by Dean's almost hostile attitude. "This time it is not about you. I believe that if the universe is going to find its equilibrium once more, it will be Sam who must lead us."

" _What_? Why? Don't you have archangels and whatnot, warriors of God?" Sam blinked. "You do know about the demon blood and me being soulless at some point and all that crap," Sam said, knowing very well that Joshua probably knew about everything going on in the universe worth knowing. "I mean... I'm just human. The part of me that's not tainted by the demon." Sam shrugged, almost apologetic.

"Which is why we need _you_ and not Dean. To balance out the good gone rotten, the grace lost, the soul missing." Joshua patted Sam on the shoulder approvingly.

"What the fuck are you talking about," Dean groaned, taking a drink of the whiskey. "I love it when you asshats are so fucking free with the details." He threw the empty bottle on the lawn. "I'm drunk." Sam sent him a glare, wishing him to stop before he pissed Joshua off. If anybody could to it, Dean would be the one.

"I can only tell you what little I know," Joshua said calmly. "The civil war here has decimated our numbers and I do not have access to the sources I had before. Our intelligence is not what it once were. God hasn't spoken to me for a while."

Sam didn't like to press the issue of Dean's health when Joshua was in the middle of declaring a heavenly war, but Sam _needed_ Dean. He couldn't care less about angels as long as Dean looked like he was about to faint. Also, Dean would be a bit more useful if he was able to actually think and not just complain. "Maybe it would be easier if Dean was-"

"I'm perfectly well," Dean said sarcastically. "Just a little tired and drunk and dying. Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and die peacefully."

"You are right, of course," Joshua said to Sam. "I'll do what I can to make Dean better; but this unbalance is centered around you two. It might not be enough, what little power I have." It was an understatement, of course. Joshua had plenty power.

"But we- we- didn't do anything!" Not this time, Sam was one hundred percent certain. They had been hunting, nothing more. A sudden thought struck, as if the information had to be processed properly before Sam realized what had been said. A cold hand of fear clenched at his heart, defying the logic that told Sam that they truly hadn't done anything to create any disturbances. "Lucifer! Has he-"

"No. Michael and his brother are still where you put them. What we fear is that with the universe tilting it won't take long before the cage won't hold." Joshua patted Sam's hand gently. "Nobody is blaming you. If our fears... If I am right about who has caused this..." Joshua looked sad, almost devastated, as if he'd been disappointed beyond belief. "If I am right, Sam, we are up against old gods. Powerful gods. And worst of all, what saddens me the most, is that we might be up against one who was once ours, one we all thought to be lost."

"A fallen angel?" Sam looked at Joshua, suddenly afraid. Worried tension wrinkled his forehead. He knew exactly what a fallen angel was capable of and he did not want to go there again, having a standoff with one.

"Not Cas!" Dean tried to get up from the chair. "Not Cas; he'd never-"

Sam and Joshua both stared at Dean without saying a word. Joshua merely raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so he would, but he- he-" Dean sounded lost. He looked up at them from the chair, his face tired and afraid. "He did everything he could to redeem himself. He did everything he could to let me survive in Purgatory." Dean grabbed the armrests of the deep chair and pushed himself up. He managed to stand, his face feverish and pale. "He sacrificed everything so that I-' Dean turned his thumb into his chest, underlining his words, "-so that I could live! He _wouldn't_ do that to me."

Joshua reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You are a good man, Dean. I believe your fate is closely connected to Castiel's. Your faith in him is what will heal you. Just believe."

"Believe? In what? Castiel is gone!" Dean's eyes were flashing green lightnings. He was working up a remarkable anger, seeing he was barely able to stand.

"Dean, please." Sam shook his head. "Let's just listen to what Joshua has to say. Anything that can help you get better."

"Knowing what this shit's about will get me better," Dean stated, pointing accusingly at Joshua. "Funny how this happens every time God has fucked things up and Heaven is on its way to Hell in a handbasket. You fuck up, you call us, we fuck up and Cas charges in and saves us all." He poked Joshua in the chest. "You asked for our help. Get Cas back from wherever he is, and we'll stop the apocalypse and Armageddon and kick Lucy back in his cage if he tries to break out and we'd fucking repair your car if you had one. But I want Cas, man."

"See?" Joshua looked as if he was chuckling; his eyes sparkled with a surprising mirth. "Dean's better already. Fate cures many ailments." He turned to Dean, once again serious. "Unfortunately I do not believe that saving the universe will be a walk in the park, Dean. Castiel is dead. It will take a great deal of prayers and begging to return him to us and the universe is unstable already. He must wish for it to happen. We cannot force him, Dean Winchester. Castiel must want to return to you."

"Any idea what caused the balance to tip in the first place?" Sam asked quietly. He felt relieved that Dean was better; he was quite a bit more awake now and aware of what was happening around him. That could only be good, couldn't it? It was difficult, however, to make sense of what Joshua said. Sam couldn't wrap his mind around how they were going to be a part of the solution. It was above them, this universal stuff. They didn't pull any punches on that level.

"Yes." Joshua nodded. "We do have a theory." He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and reached for Dean's hand. "Let us sit down. You must be starving."

Sam managed half a gasp before Joshua zapped them into what seemed to be a small Japanese pavilion surrounded by vines and flowers. Outside the small house the waves of a narrow beach cast silvery reflections onto the trees. There was a low table in the middle of the pavilion, and comfortable pillows to sit on. The table was filled with a number of dishes; the smell of roast and grilled chicken was mouth-watering. Sam eyed a particularly delicious Caesar salad and his stomach decided to reveal that it needed food, and soon.

"God, I'm hungry," Dean said and sat down, not waiting for Joshua to invite him. "Can't remember the last time I ate."

"Yesterday," Sam said. "Before the thunderstorm."

"Sit down, Sam, please." Joshua smiled. "While you eat, I'll tell you what we've discovered so far." Joshua sat down, not waiting for Sam to do the same.

Obviously manners in Heaven weren't that important when yet another apocalypse was pending. Joshua poured a glass of silvery liquid for himself. Sam didn't dare ask what it was. Sam curled his long limbs together and sat down on one of the pillows. Without further ado he took some salad and a beer. "I still don't understand what _we_ can do about your problem," Sam said before he took a forkful of chicken and iceberg and Parmesan. Dean was already stuffing his mouth with lasagna, which in Sam's opinion was a good thing. Both because Dean was getting better by the minute and because it made him unable to speak.

"Better than yarn, I take it?" Sam said, happy that Dean was eating.

"Urgh, disgusting," Dean managed; his impersonation of a hamster didn't do much to make him look charming. "Don't remind me."

"Yarn?" Joshua ignored Dean's appalling eating habits and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sam made a shrug. Not precisely dinner table conversation, but what the hell. "Dean threw up. It had yarn in it. Homespun, rough. Cut in hundreds of places and then tied back together."

Joshua put down the goblet of silver liquid with a sudden movement. The silver sloshed over the rim. Joshua ignored it. "Did you bring it?"

Sam shook his head. "What? No. Not really something you'd want to carry in your pocket."

"Color? What was it made of?"

Sam didn't ask why he wanted to know. Obviously Joshua found the yarn important so he explained as well as possible how the piece of string had looked.

Thoughtfully, Joshua sat there, looking from Dean to Sam and back again. "Hundreds of cuts?" he asked again. "And flax, wool-" He closed his eyes. It took a long time before he opened them again. "Have you died that many times?" he finally said, staring at Dean. "Unusual. I must have lost count."

"What do you mean?" Dean paused, the fork a few inches from his mouth. A piece of lasagna took a dive and landed on the plate with a wet sound. "And yeah, I did. It was worse for Sam than for me, most of those times, though. Your archangel did that. Gabriel."

"But the thread," Sam began. "How does-"

"I need to examine it," Joshua said. "Inias can bring it to me. I'd rather not say anything before I have seen it. I might be wrong. You should work on getting your Castiel back; don't worry about the yarn. If it is what I think it is, you are not in danger. At least not because of a piece of string."

"Reassuring. And he's not _my_ Castiel." Dean hurried to add before he shoveled some more lasagna onto his plate. "How about some hamburgers?"

Sam grinned. He couldn't stop himself. Joshua and Dean were perfect studies in people trying to steer conversations away from a sore spot or two.

"What are you laughing at, Samantha? Shut up and eat. Don't know when you're going to get something as good as like this again." Dean managed to stuff even more food into his mouth.

Joshua had perfected the art of conversational avoidance. "It is important, your faith." Joshua backtracked, spiraling the topic as far away from that small bundle of yarn as possible. He knew precisely where to go to make Dean forget about anything but Castiel. Sam was impressed. "Your angel. Your prayers, Dean. Those kept Castiel alive. Your trust. Your love for him."

"I don't lo-"

"I see into your heart, Dean," Joshua interrupted. "And what I see there might be enough."

"What you see is probably clogged arteries," Dean snapped, finally taking the bait. "Enough for what?" Dean's complexion took a sudden change into a revealing rose tone that enhanced his freckles. He put down his fork, the food forgotten. "So let's pretend that I know what you're talking about, and that you're not just blowing the usual celestial crap up my ass. Enough for what?"

"As I said, your destiny and Castiel's are connected," Joshua explained. "You share a tight bond, a bond so close and strong that it reaches beyond death and realms. What you are feeling—this illness of yours—is the disturbance, its vortex, pulling you towards it. My theory, not a very good one, I'm afraid, is that Castiel's return might be enough to balance out the pull on you."

"What I don't understand," Sam said, scratching his chin, "is _who_ is pulling from the other end? And what about the part that is pulling me? Didn't you say that it was both of us?"

Sighing, Joshua put down his hands on the table, folded. He looked at his own fingers entangled for a while. "That is our biggest problem," he admitted. "The one who is pulling is not the same as the one who caused the disturbance." Joshua looked up. "Odin ruined the balance of the universe. He messed with dark magic, chancing his entire world, the Norse heaven and the Norse hell, for this. He did what I never thought would be possible. All parts of the universe have been affected. Odin remade himself from what little was left after Lucifer regrettably decided to include other pantheons in his war against Heaven." Joshua paused, looking for words, perhaps. "What we are feeling is the entire universe shaking to get everything back into place." Joshua made a small smile. "Like a large and clumsy dog with wet fur. The kind that falls over when they shake themselves."

Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing at the image. "And how do we get it to stand again?"

"And how do we get Cas back?" Dean added. "We're doing bupkis, zip, _nada_ without Cas."

They were not in a position to make ultimatums, but Sam would have done exactly was Dean was doing. He'd do it for Dean, and he'd have done it for Cas, too. But there was more to it now than just getting their friend and comrade-in-arms back. Sam had noticed Dean's lack of heartfelt protests when Joshua spoke about Dean's love for their friend. And then there had been the slight blush. Yeah, there was a bond, indeed. And it obviously was a tiny bit stronger than Sam had thought. Hell, it was stronger, clearly, than even Dean had believed. All he'd needed was a push in the right direction to get him to smell the coffee. Except Dean still needed to accept what Joshua had suggested. On the bottom line, Sam was sure of one thing: when all this was done and they were either dead or in Heaven or wherever God saw fit to put them, Cas _had_ to be there too.

With Dean.

"What he said," Sam finally added, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Cas is a part of the deal."

"I might not be able to keep that deal," Joshua said. "Castiel's return depends on Dean more than on my power, Sam. I think Dean has to manage that one by himself, but I will do what I can." Picking up a napkin, Joshua dried his mouth, stalling. "There is something else you need to know before you accept," Joshua said. "As you said, both of you are in the centre of the disturbance. I do not want to see you blind-sided on this one." Joshua looked decidedly worried but for once they got information, and that for free.

"Huh?" Maybe Heaven really was developing a new, more modern flow-of-information-style, or maybe Joshua had just needed time to think before he let them in on the case. Miracles did happen, but Sam reserved the right to decide on that one later.

"The dog, if you want to use that analogy for the universe." Joshua definitely wasn't elated by the thought, clearly. "The events we are seeing... they might be connected to the thread Dean... swallowed."

"What? We get to know stuff before you mooks fuck us over this time?" Dean growled. "That one's new."

"The former archangel Gabriel is the one wagging the dog." Joshua looked ashamed. "We do have a fallen angel at our hands, one who is so much more dangerous than Lucifer ever was. Rumor has it that he is gathering an army."

"The Trickster?" Sam and Dean said at the same time. "But-"

"Killed by Lucifer as you know, dragged back from the void by Odin." Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose. "He is out there, a greater threat than you can imagine. He was turned back into being by Odin's magic, his seiðr. Odin could control the part of Gabriel that was Loki, but not the part that was Gabriel the Archangel. It is but a theory, but Gabriel now lacks his grace which in itself is bad. Worse, he lacks his _soul_. I do not know for certain, but I believe he is no longer an angel. He is made up solely by the dark side of Odin's power."

"Whoa." Dean's eyes were wide and awake. "You mean..."

"That he is out there, made up of the evil, cruel aspects of Odin; the aspects that created the Trickster and the pagan god. It was tolerable when he was controlling it with grace; and of course we didn't know that he'd gone over to the dark side. Now... since he has neither soul, nor grace, Gabriel is without mercy, without conscience, without empathy, made up of pure malicious evil."

"Like Sam when he lost his soul? Sam's bigger, badder brother with superpowers and immortality, you mean?" Dean looked sick.

The scent of flowers and freshly cut grass was suddenly overwhelming. Sam felt dizzy, his skin tingling with disgust and terror. The mere thought of Lucifer or one like him... it was too much going through that again. "And is Gabriel in need of a vessel?" Sam asked, trying to suppress the fear that welled up inside him. He got that things were much, much worse than Joshua had let them know. The archangel Gabriel had been dangerous, all right, but even despite Sam's dislike of him, the Trickster had had redeeming features. Sam hadn't forgiven him entirely for what he'd done to Dean, but Gabriel, like Cas, had sacrificed himself for the sake of a small blue planet and its inhabitants. That did cut him some slack with Sam. The change in him, though? Without the humor and the will to turn his wrongs into rights, Gabriel wouldn't be pleasant company. Without a soul... Without a soul, Gabriel would be downright scary. And seeing that it took a bit to scare any Winchester that said a lot.

"Honestly? I do not know." Looking at Inias, Joshua tapped his lip. "If his angel part is gone he might not be able to take one."

"So, Lucifer all over again, just with more imagination?"

"Lucifer still has the ability to love," Joshua said. He sounded worried. "Demons want to serve. They have urges. The King of Hell has desires; he, too, knows how to love, how to be passionate. What is out there, this... _abomination_ which Odin created, does neither serve, nor love. He just is. No feelings, other than the need to swallow up the universe from which he was built."

"So our Gabe is basically an angelic black hole, starting at Armageddon, terminating at the apocalypse?" Dean asked, frowning. "And we’re already having so much fun." He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Let's get back to how I get _my_ angel back and we'll go fix _your_ problem. I hate public transportation. Crowded. I am so not getting into any black holes with the Trickster and the rest of the universe. They tend to be on the crowded side too."

"There's a difference between wormholes and black holes," Sam said. "And you've never used public transportation, Dean."

"Moot point. Define 'use'. I've seen a bus. And I've been on a plane."

"None of us want to fall into Gabriel's trap, Dean. Our best hope is that he might have become mortal, or at least easier to kill now that he no longer is an angel." Joshua steered the conversation back to the topic. He put a hand on Dean's. "As for your Castiel... Do what you are doing already. The bond between the two of you is enough. Have fate, pray, and wait. The stronger prayers, the better."

"What kind of crap is that? Can't you just mojo him here? And I'd like to get rid of this annoying headache, too, if it's all the same to you." Dean didn't protest this time when Joshua gave Dean the final stamp of ownership approval, maybe realizing that calling Cas _his_ angel was a tiny bit revealing and not exactly supportive of Dean's previous stance on the matter.

"I am a gardener. I am not God; I cannot _will_ Castiel into being. Plants need time to grow," Joshua said. "I can feed them and nurture them, but they need time. They need to want to grow." He looked Dean into the eyes, and Sam felt as if he was watching a secret and intimate moment that he had no right to. "Castiel needs to find his will to grow, to sprout. Nurture him, Dean Winchester, with the love you hold for him. Gabriel was forced into being by Odin's seiðr; it did not turn out well. You would not want that fate for..." Joshua paused, smiling. "For your angel. I suspect that you would want all of him."

"I do not want all of-" Dean began, a slight blush in his cheeks once again. He didn't finish the sentence. His denial was getting old and from where Sam was standing, it looked like Dean had just realized that particular fact. "Oh, I'm so screwed," Dean groaned and grabbed a hamburger.

 

Sam zoned out a bit. The thought of fallen angels outside Heaven's control wasn't exactly making his day. A soulless, graceless Gabriel? Sam closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling sympathy and pity wash over him in a violent wave that almost sent him to his knees, had he not been sitting already. _Soulless_... There was nothing worse, nothing more torturous than being torn apart, broken in such a cruel way. Sam did not want to recall the time when he had lived like that, broken in the worst way imaginable. He'd rather be tortured in Hell, drink demon blood for breakfast until the end of time than live again without his soul. If such a life could be called living. A shadow-life. Yes, having a soul was painful, and being without was so alluring, but Sam would never be without his soul again.

Why would it be different for Gabriel? Despite everything Gabriel had done to them, he had been there, at the end, to sacrifice himself for love. If there was anything in the universe Gabriel _wasn't_ it was loveless. He had been arrogant, annoying, dangerous, deadly, but he had never been loveless. Everything about Gabriel was about feelings, some of them perhaps a bit too close to deadly sins to be good. But Gabriel was passionate, burning. He'd never want to be without his soul. He'd never want to be ice. He'd never want to be broken in such a way as there would be no hope of healing. He'd never stop loving if he had a choice, Sam was certain.

"Joshua," Sam said, straightening up, having made his decision. "We need Inias, we need Cas back, like _now_ , and we need to locate Gabriel's soul. And then we'll stop the universe from going under." Sam looked at Joshua as if his orders were to be carried out immediately. If Heaven asked for a warlord, Sam would make damned sure they got one. His confusion was gone. With Dean and Cas having his back, he could do this. "And where is that army of his? Gabriel's?"

"Bossy, now, are we?" Dean laughed. "My little brother is growing up." Dean sounded proud. He looked better than he'd done all day. "Okay, let's try it your way, Sammy. Yours and Joshua's. I'm too tired to complain. And at least we're doing something instead of sitting on our asses in a run-down motel, watching the rain."

"Fine." Sam didn't know whether to feel offended or happy that Dean didn't contradict him. He turned to Joshua, only to find a look of appreciation in his eyes. It encouraged Sam. "Please, let Inias take us back to the motel," Sam asked. "He can act as our aide-de-camp and deliver our messages to you, and the yarn." Sam breathed in deeply, not wanting to hurt Joshua's feelings. Sam liked the old gardener. "It's just that... I'd feel more at home on Earth. Nothing wrong with Heaven, but..."

"I understand. I like to stay in my garden, even in hard times as these. I think better here," Joshua volunteered. "You may take Inias with you right away; I will do what I can to send you whatever help you need. I'll return to Earth as fast as possible." Joshua didn't smile this time. He just looked tired. "Better we perish helping you with the battle that might come, do we not stop what is going on. Harsh times crave harsh measures and Heaven is no longer a safe and peaceful retreat when the entire universe is at stake."

Joshua waved a hand and the world turned into a blur of light. When it stopped spinning, they were back in their dingy motel room. It didn't look much better in sunlight.

 

**4\. Apples and Admissions**

Gabriel liked it. He liked the ice and the fire; he liked the way the realm shook under his feet, the way the land groaned like a wounded animal as his army marched over it. He had purpose, a goal. His mind was set on this one action: to conquer the universe, to lay it under his rule. He would be a fair but strict god. Yes, fair and strict, no emotions involved, that would work. He would never allow the universe to continue being so messy and unstructured. All realms and all religions would be Gabriel's to manage. Order, system, direction. The universe would be a beautiful place. He recalled a song he'd once heard. Something about freedom being a scary thing and that people didn't really want it. He'd make certain that people didn't have to want for it. It would be easier to save them the trouble.

His horse was tired. Gabriel didn't truly care, but the night was approaching and to be fair, the animal probably needed rest. Gabriel liked time. It made for the day being put into neat little boxes. They made it easy to put humans and animals and demons into systems and schedules. Twelve hours of pillaging and burning, then twelve hours of preparations and rest. It made the demons less confused. Clearly they liked a strong leader who was willing to tell them what to do. And since that was what Gabriel did best, it was a delightful symbiosis. He'd never thought that raping his brother's realm, burning it down to the ground, would be so satisfying. He should have done it millennia ago. He could have moved his demon army to the gates of Valhalla in an instant; he did, however, like this line of action, knowing it would tie his demons closer to him, giving them what they craved so hungrily.

While servants prepared his tent and yet others tended to his horse, Gabriel relaxed in a fur-covered chair in front of a roaring fire. Some of the demons seemed to have caught a few of Odin's spies. Gabriel could hear their cries as the demons tortured them. He drank a bit of mulled wine, knowing that his men would let him know immediately if anything of importance was discovered before they cut the spies' tongues out. The spies would be returned to Odin without legs to walk on and hands to beg with. It was subtle, yet effective, letting Odin know that his little brother had no qualms when it came to warfare. Gabriel had but one goal: to win, no matter the costs. It wasn't as if the realm would run out of dark forces. Midgard would provide a constant flow of cowards which Hél would change into demons. She would soon be taught to obey her father without questioning his decisions. When Gabriel needed demons, Hél would bend her knee and do what he told her. If the unlikely event happened that the supply dried out, Gabriel would be happy to let his demons harvest humans. They were useless anyway.

Enjoying the fire and the wine he did not truly need, Gabriel sat in silence, waiting for his general to arrive with the officers he had appointed in Gabriel's name. Mandsbane had taste, Gabriel had to admit that. All his officers were tall, handsome warriors. That they were all cowards who'd died in bed and not in war did not bother Gabriel much. They'd just been clever and ruthless enough not to die in vain. His officers were clearly cunning and opportunistic; precisely type of soldiers he needed. Gabriel wondered if Mandsbane was clever enough to have realized his taste in men when he picked out the chosen ones. He probably had for the officers could just as well have been Mandsbane's brothers.

Their tall, broad-shouldered shapes had Gabriel's body tingling by the mere sight of so much male beauty as twelve demons entered the pavillion. Mandsbane certainly knew ways to please his superior.

There was still something nagging Gabriel. Mandsbane was a bit too sure of himself, far too early, in Gabriel's opinion. Deciding to take his general down a peg as was his habit with men and women who were a bit arrogant, Gabriel kept a neutral expression while he discussed with his men their next move. Blodörn, one of the younger majors, was the only one who had something to report that needed immediate action.

"I am afraid, my Lord, that there is a power leak." Blodörn frowned. "Imagine a thin thread of energy disappearing from the realm. I have tried tracing it; it dissolves and leaves no trace. Our lesser demons are all feeling it, a few of the weakest are already dead, drained. Not that it matters; we can afford to lose the weak. We should get rid of them anyway, before they drag us down."

Smiling deceptively, Gabriel touched Blodörn's forehead, causing the demon to fall to his knees, crying out in pain. "I decide what we can afford to lose," Gabriel said softly. "I do not like bad news and I am only letting you live because you had the courage to deliver them, knowing I would not be happy. Let it be a lesson to you all."

"Thank you, my Lord." The demon kept kneeling, kissing the hem of Gabriel's cloak.

"Stop that, it's a filthy habit," Gabriel sneered. "Go. Trace the leak. Use whatever means necessary. Kill as many as you need, but find out what is going on. Hurry or you might lose that handsome body of yours."

Mandsbane smiled his wide, arrogant, cruel smile. Gabriel had to admit that evil had rarely looked better. White smile, almond eyes, great body. I bothered Gabriel, though, that his general liked the suffering of others a bit too much for his own good. Mandsbane needed to get his act together, or Gabriel would get rid of him. Blodörn would be a good replacement if he solved the task Gabriel had given him.

"Dismissed," Gabriel said and waved a hand, signaling that his staff was allowed to leave. "Not you, Mandsbane," he said, catching the flicker of surprise in the demon's eyes. "You will serve in my tent tonight." Gabriel let his eyes wander down Mandsbane's body, doing nothing to hide precisely what kind of service he would demand from his general. "You will know your place or I will kill you without hesitation," Gabriel said. His expression let Mandsbane know that his words weren't an idle threat. "Do you understand?"

"My Lord. I live to serve." Mandsbane showed no emotions. He turned on his heel and disappeared into Gabriel's tent.

Gabriel stretched and stood. Oh, it was good to be the king.

Idun walked through Valhalla with a heavy heart. Her trees withered and the warm summer in her garden had turned into dark autumn. The fall that never came had come. The small basket she carried was filled with small apples that were all that was left after the meager harvest. She passed the straw-covered floor in silence and spoke only when she stood in front of Hliðskjálf, Odin's high seat. 

"I am not fond of Loki and I fear I might be accusing him unjustly." She looked up at Odin. "You are able to see into all realms, All-Father, from your seat. And he who once called himself our brother and friend, where is he? I fear our world will come to an end, for look, are not these apples tiny and bitter?" She put down the basket in front of Odin. "All-Father, these apples are the ones which keep us young and fresh. But life has been drained from them and I fear that he who calls himself Loki Laufeyson is the cause. And when life is drained from the apples of Asgard, so will life be drained from us, the Asir and Ásynjar of Valhalla." The scent of rotting apples filled the hall. There was little left of the fresh sweetness that usually surrounded Idun the orchard gardener.

"Accuse me instead," Odin said calmly. "For I started this. I was dead and so was my brother, murdered were we, by the hand of the fallen angel Lucifer. I wished to die bravely in battle with Fenrir as it has been written. I wished for my brother to be with me on the last day at the last battle. I am the reason why the universe and its many realms are falling apart." Odin bent his head, eyes averted. "Accuse me, Idun." Odin looked tired and worn out.

"No, All-Father. You might have stretched the realms and disturbed the nature of the seas and of the World Tree, but Loki decided to use your love for his own evil purposes."

"He did, that is true. My ravens tell me that his army is marching. I have sent my einherjar to spy on him, but none have returned. Loki Laufeyson must have powerful demons with him for I cannot see him. He is shrouded in darkness and hate."

"I am but a gardener," Idun said. "But I know how to keep equilibrium. When the soil is dry, water it. When the plants are withering, let them sleep and they will wake up in spring. When there is frost, summer will come. When the fruits are ripe, harvest. When the realm and all other realms are turning on their heads, when power and life-force are drained, there is but one thing to do: find the one thing that sets back what has been torn from its roots. Prepare the soil with fertilizer and water and plant it once more. It will grow and balance will be restored."

"You are wise, goddess Idun," Odin said. "I am but war and seiðr. You are growth and nurturing. I will listen to your advice."

Idun smiled softly. There was so much strength in green, growing things and she was the mistress of them all. "We must travel to the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree," she said. "The tree where you sacrificed yourself and hung for nine days, learning the magic of the runes and of the dark seiðr." Odin's power had been enhanced by the World Tree and they both knew how deep the tree's roots went: through Midgard and Asgard, through the universe and around it. Everything was connected through the World Tree. "Perhaps the norns can help us find out where the drain goes. Do they not water the tree and nurture it?"

"Odin nodded. "Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld. Future, past and present. Yes, they might know. They might have seen. They know the tree better than anyone. Maybe the water in itself... the holy water from Urðr's well is enough to wash Yggdrasil clean of the contamination from the fallen one."

"And if they fail? If the tree cannot show us? If the drain cannot be stopped, then, perhaps..." Idun almost didn't dare suggest it. She looked away. "The thread."

Odin raised his eyebrows in a surprised grimace. "The thread of fate? That is impossible. The norns will never allow it. Even I cannot demand that of them. No one is allowed to touch the thread and the loom, nobody is allowed to shift the fate of men."

"And if the survival of the universe depended on it," Idun said, "then what? We are not arrogant, Odin. We are not the only gods. There are more than us and our children out there."

"I don't know if there is anything we can do if the universe is threatened. But what I do know," Odin said quietly, "is that it is not enough to be a warrior. What comforts me is that if Loki releases his children on us... If I die as the prophecy suggests, then my son Baldur will return to us from Hél. And he will return to a new realm born of the ashes of the old. And he will be the god of light and the new realm will be the most beautiful place in the reborn universe."

"A cold comfort," Idun said, "if we are all gone and thus cannot feast in Baldur's honor."

"Cas, please! We need you. Sam and I need you," Dean prayed, trying not to sound too desperate. "Get your feathery ass down here, man!" Dean had closed his eyes, his hands resting on his thighs. One hand was curled up as if Dean had a grip on something invisible, something he could drag down to Earth. 

"Yeah," Sam joined in, "we have an apocalypse on our hands, and we can't save the world alone. Cas, please? Come on, we've done it before, help us!"

Dean blew out a deep sigh. "He isn't... I don't think this's gonna work. Son of a bitch!" He thrust his fist hard into the headboard of the rickety motel bed. It creaked, but held.

"That's my line, dude!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back. "He always shows up when you call. He really does like you better."

"Shut your face." Dean probably didn't want to think about why he was better liked than Sam. He looked weary more than angry, though. "So, what if Cas and I have a connection? What if Cas does... It doesn't mean that I'm supposed to-"

Sam looked at Dean without saying anything. One thing was to be in... a little bit in favor of... Cas. Another was to like men, and Dean didn't. Except he found Dr Sexy sexy and he got a little tiny minuscule bit testy when anyone mentioned his _profound bond_ with Cas. It didn't mean that he liked men. Or that he was a girl. It just meant that...

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Why don't you just tell him? I mean... if you really like him. Don't you think it'd work better than any prayer we can come up with? I mean, if he's in lo-"

"Fuck you!" Dean stood. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Is it something you and Joshua have come up with all this shit? Do I look like I'm a girl?"

"No, but you certainly behave like one. Didn't think you'd be such a coward," Sam taunted suddenly wanting to get a reaction out of Dean. He shrugged. "He's pretty. Can't you just admit-"

"No." Dean looked appalled and angry. "Just, no."

"Castiel always expressed a deep fondness for Dean," Inias added quietly. "Castiel often said that he preferred green eyes. Like Dean's. And lips."

"Oh, _please_!" Dean looked as if he was going to gag. "He's my friend all right, and we do have a habit of saving each other and okay, so he is pretty, and I miss him," Dean rambled. "Doesn't make me ga-" Dean shut his mouth. Now he did look angry.

"I am sorry. I do not have the same extended and advanced experience with humans and their habits," Inias said. "But isn't it usually considered polite and normal to finish one's senten-"

"No!" Dean growled and got up from the bed. "Fucking shut your cake-holes. I am not gay and I'm not in love with Cas, dammit! Why do you all think that I am?"

Sam exchanged a look with Inias. If he didn't know better he'd have thought that Inias looked amused. "Perhaps because you act as if you are, Dean." Sam was entirely unperturbed. He'd seen Dean being in denial too many times to care much. "You talk about him all the time and you miss him like crazy. You blush when you speak of him, totally adorable by the way. And you're overcompensating. Again."

"Stop talking. Both of you!" Dean took a few determined steps towards the bathroom before his legs gave way under him and he fell onto his knees. "Shit! Fuck, that hurt."

"It is possible that it makes your condition worse when you deny that you love him," Inias said, extending a hand to help Dean stand. "There is no sin in love, but to lie is one. Maybe, if you want to help Castiel come into being you need to speak the truth of the feelings you have for him."

"Go fuck yourself. And Sam, too, since you both are so fond of the gay," Dean sneered, ignoring Inias's hand. He got up, then managed to lock himself into the bathroom without falling over.

"That certainly went well," Sam said. "Sorry, Inias, but Dean doesn't handle attacks on his manliness very well."

"I don't understand," Inias said. "How is it not manly to be in love? Men do that repeatedly on Earth."

Sam would find it funny if the entire thing wasn't so surreal. Okay, so it was still funny, despite Dean's rage and the danger he was in. Sam pitied his brother. As it were, Dean had to face his emotions or he would die. Being forced to live the girl-moment of epic proportions without the possibility for opting out... not on. He sent Inias a weak smile. "They do. Only a bit less frequently with other men. Or angels. The last one is pretty rare. Could scare better and more gay men than Dean."

"Ah." Inias looked as if he didn't understand anything at all. Sam _did_ understand. It wasn't easy for Dean. He'd have to rearrange his entire view on life and love if he felt for Castiel what Joshua had implied. So maybe the butch attitude really was Dean, overcompensating. Sam looked at the peeling paint on the bathroom door. It was quiet behind the dented wood.

"May I see the yarn?" Inias asked, seemingly realizing there was little he could do about Dean. He sat down on the bed opposite Sam. "I should take it to Joshua."

Sam rummaged around in his bag, digging out the small Ziploc bag in which they had put the clean thread. It smelled of the motel's cheap soap when he opened the bag. A few grains of salt fell onto the bedspread and Sam brushed them off of it. "Here." Sam held out the small skein of yarn to Inias.

The angel reached for it and touched it briefly, only to let go as if he'd burned his fingers. "Oh."

"What is it?" Sam looked searchingly at Inias, trying to determine whether he was all right. If the thread could hurt an angel, it was more powerful and dangerous than Sam could imagine. "Are you OK?"

"Yes. I." Inias rubbed his hand on his thigh as if his fingers were unclean. "Pagan. I don't know who made it, exactly, but it is strong and it reeks of death and feels like hellfire. Joshua will know what to do with it." He didn't look at the thread but ignored it. Sam wondered if Inias was feeling as uncomfortable as he looked.

"And Dean had that in his _stomach_. Are you sure he'll be all right?"

Inias averted his eyes. "Lying is a sin. I assume I should tell one now? A lie. To make you comfortable?"

God, Inias reminded Sam of Cas to a degree where the loss of him made Sam willing to declare his undying love and devotion for Castiel, including the option to have his children, had it been possible, if only it could make Cas come alive and return to Earth. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't," Sam said. "We can't help Dean if we don't know what happened to him, and I need him to be here... or..." Sam sighed. He hated this responsibility, he hated that nobody else stepped up and offered to save the universe so that he could carry on and hunt a few ghosts, date a girl and perhaps get the dog he wanted. Except it would last him exactly until next time the gods made a mess. "I can't do it alone, Inias."

"Yes, Sam. Dean will surely be fine." Inias nodded. "Maybe I should talk to Joshua first." It wasn't a question. "Before I say anything."

Sam's eyes became thin slits. "You said you wouldn't lie."

"Technically-"

"Inias!"

"I would like Joshua to see it. Before. What if I am wrong? Joshua is much older than me. He is well-versed in the lore and practices of the Norse gods."

"The Norse gods? So you _do_ know who made it?" Sam fell quiet and regarded Inias with a sharp glare, "Is it the Trickster who crammed knitting yarn into Dean's throat? Why not throw in a pair of knitting needles while he were at it?" Sam swore under his breath one or two things he'd prefer Inias didn't hear. He was going to bloody kill Gabriel for this. Repeatedly. In all the painful ways he could think of, and after the encounter at the mystery spot, Sam's imagination wasn't lacking.

"Not my fallen brother. No, he didn't do this to Dean, neither did he spin the thread. Look at the knots," Inias said and touched the string again, trying to keep a straight face. He managed to look only a little disgusted. "Every time such a thread is broken, it means death and all the neatly cut and tied knots are those of the Trickster's doing. Inias pointed at one flossing end. "Somebody snapped it here, someone who wasn't careful. Or _something_. I may be wrong, only Dean should be dead by now if this is what I think it is. I don't understand."

Sam studied the piece of yarn again, thinking about what Inias had revealed. "So all these little..." He pushed a the thread with the tip of a finger. "Those knots are..."

"When Gabriel, when... yes." Inias looked ashamed, like Joshua had done when he spoke of Gabriel. "I think my brother was broken already, Sam Winchester, when he killed Dean over and over."

"Gabriel wasn't broken," Sam heard himself say in a defensive tone. "If he was anything in that direction, he was heartbroken because his older brothers were fighting and in his own awkward, insane way he tried to help. He wanted to teach me a les-." Sam shut his mouth audibly. "It wasn't precisely what I meant to say." He didn't understand why he was suddenly defending the Trickster. He hated him for what he'd done to Dean. A little sympathy, yes, but he certainly had no warm feelings for the former angel in any of his incarnations. Sam sighed and rubbed his face. He knew only too well how it felt to be torn apart by fighting family, so he couldn't actually deny that he felt perhaps a bit more than just a little sympathetic. He understood Gabriel's suffering. "What is it, the yarn? What do _you_ think it is? The thread of death?"

"The thread of _fate_ ," Inias corrected. "What you hold is Dean's life-thread. And it should rightfully sit on the loom of the three norns, the three goddesses of fate, and no one, neither god, nor man, should be allowed to touch it. And definitely no one would be allowed to break it or steal it. How it came to appear in Dean's chest, I do not know. Why he isn't dead, I do not know. What I do know, though, is that Dean might now be outside fate and under the human device that detects objects in the stratosphere because of this. Could be why his connection with Castiel needs confirmation." Inias certainly got chatty when he warmed up a bit, and Sam wanted more. 

Inias didn't disappoint. "Dean's fate weighs heavily on my brother; he did take his liberties with it, taking things into his own hand. I do not think that the norns would have done this without encouragement and it might be easy to guess who encouraged. Gabriel's fate and Dean's are intermingled and the reason Gabriel does not have more power over him now... Dean is Castiel's responsibility and the bond your brother and my brother share is strong and important. More important than we believed."

"Under the what?" Sam frowned. "Stratosphere? Oh, radar!" He laughed, a brief, rough sound which stung in his throat as if worries and tears were hidden there, deep down. "So you are saying that Cas tied himself to Dean because he saved him from his fate in Hell?"

"In Hell and in so many other places and times. Every time Castiel saved Dean his thread of fate was strengthened, and every time Gabriel killed your brother, Gabriel's fate intermingled with yours, Deans and yours." Inias made a disapproving sound. "Such a tangle of beliefs and bonds."

"And Cas? Does he have a... a thread of fate, too?"

"No. He belongs to our father and has nothing to do with the Norse gods. They hold no power over him. Technically-"

"That is what you say every time you're thinking of lying," Sam interrupted. So _technically_ Cas doesn't have a thread of fate stored with the competition but you don't know? And Dean doesn't believe in the Norse gods. Why would he have a thread? And what about me?"

"I need to take the thread to Joshua, Sam. I cannot answer those questions for you." There was a flutter of wings and both Inias and the thread of fate were gone.

 

Dean's state wasn't improving and Sam was at a loss. The only good thing was the weather; it was sunny and beautiful, not that it mattered since they were stuck in the motel anyway. Sam was tired of the ugly brown wall paper and the creaking beds and the lumpy mattresses. He was tired of the dripping tap and of the rusty shower. He was tired of watching Dean fighting fatigue, being so tired and desperate, fighting himself and a disease that he ultimately couldn't do anything to overcome.

Except if he embraced fully the fate destiny had cut out for him.

Of course they could leave, just for the sake of it. Sam could drive and Dean could rest comfortably in the back seat, but it would get them nowhere but to the next cheap motel and the next old and musty bed. They couldn't just leave: Inias and Joshua needed to know where they were, so unless they set up a Heavenly hotline, it was easier just to stay.

If the last three days somehow could be erased from his mind and from the calendar, Sam wouldn't complain. As calendars went, three days were both too much and too little. Three days were far from enough to prepare for the war that might come could Joshua not stop Gabriel himself. Sam was used to their messes having substantially longer deadlines before everything went south. Having almost no time left was stressful. Sam got up and fetched himself a beer and an apple from the fridge. He hesitated outside the bathroom where Dean had locked himself inside. "Dean? Need help?"

There was no reply. "Dean, come on. It's not that bad." Except it was. No matter what, Dean had to change his entire life for the sake of... everyone. Ironic how surviving, being tied to Cas forever seemed so much harder than just going down with Titanic and get it over with. "Dean?" Sam repeated, "Do I need to kick the door in?"

"Don't, Sam." Dean's voice was weak and shaky. "Just... just give me five minutes."

"'kay." Sam sat down on the bed again. Yeah, it was hard for Dean, but it wasn't a freakin' tragedy, being tied to Cas. If he thought it would help, Sam would have volunteered. But Sam had little doubt that Joshua and Inias were right: Dean and Cas were tied together no matter what. By fate, by friendship, by love. Sam found that it was a very good thing, considering the circumstances. Gabriel had once warned Sam that Dean and he were each others' weakness. It wasn't as if Sam didn't realize that fact, on the contrary. He knew, and so did Dean. Furthermore, so did Gabriel, and if they were throwing themselves into this new war between the Norse gods and the former archangel, they had to be able protect each other and having Dean bound to Cas would make him less vulnerable.

For once, Dean wasn't the one taking all the flak which didn't mean that he wasn't in danger. If Sam could protect Dean by willing Castiel into being, he'd do it. If Cas was back, Dean would be as safe as he possibly could be without God himself intervening. Also, if Dean embraced his feelings for Cas, it would make the war easier for Sam. If he were to stand as the warlord for Heaven, he needed to know that Dean was in good hands.

And whose hands could be better than Cas's?

Sam's thoughts wandered to the archangel who was no longer an angel. If he had to admit it, he somehow _liked_ Gabriel. Now that he thought of it, it wasn't the first time he'd made exceptions and excuses for Gabriel's behavior, strangely against all common sense. He didn't want to examine the reasons too closely, though, other than he liked Gabriel's sense of humor, especially when he wasn't out to kill Dean. But now, with the loss of Gabriel's soul and grace there might be little left of what Sam had liked about him. If his soul was gone and there was only coldness and evil left, they all had to protect themselves against what was left. Sam remembered all too well how alluring it had been to stay in the state of clear coldness. In a state of psychopathy. He also remembered how overwhelming and wonderful it was to be able to feel again. For someone as passionate as Gabriel... Death would be better if the real Gabriel, the one with the love for family and Earth, could decide, Sam was certain. It would be an act of mercy to kill him if nothing could be done to restore his soul.

Sam downed half the beer. He put the can down on the floor and waited, staring into thin air. Until Dean had made his decision there was little he could do.

Fifteen minutes passed before anything happened. "Sammy?" There was a light scratching on the other side of the bathroom door. "Some help here!" The door opened and Dean, clinging to the handle, was trying to stand. "I'm going to... die if I don't give in," he groaned. "I can't... not much longer. It feels as if my heart and every thought I have are pulled out of my body by force."

Sam felt a cold hand of fear clench at him. He couldn't lose Dean, not after everything they'd gone through together. He hurried to help Dean, fluffing up the pillows so that Dean could rest comfortably, one arm around Dean's waist, slowly lowering him into bed.

Dean groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. "My head is exploding. Who am I going to fuck around here to get some relief?" He groaned again. "No, don't answer that."

They both knew. Sam hoped that the realization had brought Dean a bit closer to accepting the fate that destiny had cut out for him. Too bad that fate went by the name of Gabriel these days, of course.

"Could you give a little privacy here," Dean said, eyes still closed. "Go do some research."

"What are you gonna-"

"Pray to Castiel, dude! And if I'm gonna have the conversation with him that I'd rather not have, I don't want you to listen in, Sam. You'll never let me live that one down."

Except that Sam would never do that. It was too serious and too much and too big. "I'll help. Maybe he'll listen to me for once."

"Don't think its so much the listening as much as it is the wanting to return, Sam. He's been through so much. Maybe Cas... wants peace."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Or maybe he just wants to be loved." It might be exactly what Cas wanted and needed. Dean's love. It wasn't as if others hadn't noticed. Like, everybody, except Dean. Clearly Dean was blind and didn't want to be made to see.

"Shut up and fuck off." Dean managed to put an impressive amount of venom in those few words. "I'm going to pimp myself to an angel and I prefer doing it alone."

"All right, all right!" Sam didn't want to argue or do anything that made Dean change his mind. He retreated to the farthest corner with his laptop. Sam didn't open it. Quietly he tried to empty his mind, thinking only of Dean's need for Cas. "Cas, please," Sam murmured. "If you love my brother, then come back to us. He loves you, you know; he's just too stubborn to admit it. I don't know what's going to happen but we need your help. Most of all, I just miss you and I need you to get your ass down here and take care of Dean; he needs you so bad. Please, Cas?" Sam paused and tried to think of a way he could make it clear for a distant, non-existing Castiel that he was needed. Sam couldn't lose Dean. He couldn't. If he was to live his life without his brother, he'd rather be dead.

On the bed Dean was praying too. Sam could hear little bits and pieces of Dean's plea. He tried not to listen, only Dean's low voice was so intense that it was difficult not to. If Cas could hear him, he'd have to listen; Sam had never heard Dean speak with such conviction. Sam's lips curled into a small smile. When Dean finally gave in, he did it wholeheartedly.

"—I promise to stay with you—" Sam heard, Dean's voice rough with emotion. "Forever, if you want. No more girls. I want you, Cas... I- I- think I lo-"

Sam pretended that his ears was itching. Sticking his little fingers into his ears seemed like the sensible thing to do. He resumed his own prayer. "Cas, listen to Dean. He needs you. Joshua needs you. I need you. But... Dean... please save him. He loves you."

Suddenly the sky darkened and there was a flutter of wings or storm or rain. Sam gasped, looking up. Thank God!

"Oh, isn't it _adorable_ Dean is in _lurve_ with my favorite angel? And it took him how many years to figure it out?"

Sam closed his eyes. As if they hadn't enough to deal with already!

"Hello, boys, good to see you," Crowley said, pulling out one of the wooden chairs to sit on. "I have an offer for you."

And just when Sam thought that things couldn't get much worse.

 

**5\. Crossroads**

"Déjà vu," Crowley said, crossing his legs, one foot moving up and down impatiently. "I have this feeling I've had this experience before, what with you two fools busy saving the world from a pending apocalypse. Can't say that I'm elated by the franchise." Crowley leaned back, relaxing. Sam could smell some expensive cologne that he couldn't name. It was probably spelled 'money'.

"So, let's get down to business," Crowley purred, looking as arrogant as he usually did.

In a hurry?" Sam asked, pushing his chair back, leaving the laptop on the table. He stepped between Dean's bed and Crowley's chair, just to be on the safe side. "And we're not going to make a deal with you this side of Hell freezing over."

"Which may very well be what happens," Crowley said. He didn't smile. In fact, he looked deadly serious. "But before it happens your boy over there will be dead and you'll be on your usual destructive path leaving the rest of us to clean up your mess. Can't say that I'm looking forward to that, neither."

"We are _not_ going to make a deal, Crowley. Ever." The words came out a bit more harshly than Sam had intended; Crowley's accusation had hit a bit too close to home. "And Dean's not going to die."

At the bed, Dean was fighting to get up, but he fell back into the pillows, groaning as if it was difficult for him to breathe. "Not going to die," he managed; his pale, weak expression contradicting him. "I'm just... urgh. Had better days."

"And if your angel doesn't show up? If he doesn't want you like you want him?" Crowley sneered maliciously, watching Dean's eyes widen, then narrow into thin slits. Crowley held up a hand."No, wait. Don't speak; I know how much it tires you. And yes, the entire universe knows now, how lost you are in him. Those prayers, Dean... Heartfelt, coming from you. And they say true romance is dead..."

I'm gonna kill you dead, you mother-"

"Wouldn't that require the ability to stand?" Crowley laughed, obviously finding a perverse pleasure in torturing Dean by hitting where it hurt the most. "I'm sure your angelic boy toy would appreciate that. Much more fun if you're able to use your legs. Missionary position is not for you, is it, except Castiel might find it comforting. Down his line of work."

"Dead!" Dean growled, without any force. Sam had no problem following that line of thought; unfortunately it'd be counterproductive to cut Crowley off before he'd delivered his offer. There was still the possibility that the King of Hell had information that was actually helpful. 

"Could you stop it, please," Sam intervened. "Crowley... Say what you wanna say, and leave us alone. I really, really don't want to deal with demons too, on top of Dean's illness."

"Kill him, Sammy," Dean managed from the bed. "The sooner, the better."

"Okay, so we're having trust-issues here," Sam said. "Any reason why we shouldn't?" Sam wondered whether he could get to the knife before Crowley did something unpleasant to either of them.

"Because _nobody_ is going to try and mess up the system I've worked diligently to create downstairs," Crowley snapped. "Even if preventing such interference includes asking you two airheads for help." Crowley got up from the chair. "Give me some of that. If it does anything else than remove paint, that is." He pointed at one of the bottles of whiskey that Sam had bought. Crowley started pacing like a caged tiger, restless and angry. "You spoke with Joshua." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah?" Sam wondered what the hell was going on. He couldn't really see Joshua in league with the downstairs competitor. Why would Heaven contact the King of Hell after all that had happened? On the other hand, if the existence of the universe was threatened, Joshua might have found it appropriate to let Crowley know. Nothing had, however, pointed in the direction of Hell—or Crowley, for that matter—being involved at all. "Can't see how that's any of your business. Wrong floor, asshole."

"Because we're looking at the end of days, you stupid, ignorant moron!" Crowley bellowed. "And that includes my department, yours, everything in creation! How hard can it be to understand that particular fact?"

"Not very," Sam said calmly and sloshed whiskey in a glass. He handed it to Crowley.

The demon downed the content in one go, making a hissing sound as the taste hit. "Godawful. You boys have no sense of quality." He put the glass on the counter and pushed it towards the bottle. It slid over the diarrhea-brown laminate with a grating sound. "Another."

Sam obeyed, not that he wanted to. Except they needed any information Crowley might have, and Sam could swallow his pride as long as Crowley delivered. If he didn't, or if he tried to do anything unfortunate, there was always the knife. If he could get to it before it was too late, that was. Sam trusted Crowley precisely as far as he could throw the Empire State Building. Dean watched Crowley with an intense look of disgust on his face. Sam thought that Dean looked a bit better; maybe the intense and very honest prayers had helped a bit. Dean had more color.

"The offer," Sam said. "What is it you want, Crowley?"

"Despite my reluctance to ever work with any Winchester again-"

"Feeling's mutual," Dean added from the bed. "And reluctance is a mild way to put it."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, ignoring Dean's taunting. "Despite my reluctance, I do see the benefit in helping you out. It is not an offer _per se_ , in the sense that there is no deal involved."

"Get to the point," Dean said. "You just love to hear yourself speak, don't you?"

Crowley coughed and glared at Dean. "Yes, thank you, you dolt. It's called _eloquence_."

Sam was getting really, really tired. "Crowley!"

"All right." Crowley returned to his chair, glass in one hand, the whiskey bottle in the other. "Joshua told you about the equilibrium of the universe? Dean surely knows how it feels to be sitting at the dipping end. As for me, I do not like dealing with falling angels; they have this truly disturbing wish to ruin what I've worked for. Call me selfish, but I do not like my little niche being at the end that points towards the bottom."

Sam nodded. Crowley hadn't become a humanitarian over night. No surprise there. Crowley poured some more whiskey in his glass and held up the bottle as if to offer Sam some. Sam shook his head. "No thanks."

"Understandable. It's vile. Now," Crowley turned the glass, watching the liquid swirl. "Joshua lacks the contacts. However, a little bird told me that Gabriel, or Loki, if you prefer, has been visiting the goddess Hél. Some people can't leave their family alone, and our Gabriel is one of them. Anyway, Gabriel took with him a small thing that used to belong to Hél. Charming woman, by the way. Has the most intriguing ideas on management."

"And that has what to do with us. What did he take?"

"See, that is our problem. Yours, mine, Joshua's. God's, even, if he cared to get his arse back to heaven." Crowley's lips pursed into a strained smile. "Gabriel has taken Hél's demon army and as we speak he is setting those demons on Valhalla. A little bird or two told me that an attack might be imminent."

"Oh." Sam didn't know what to say.

"Why do you care?" Dean said and swung his legs out of bed. "They're the competition, they have nothing to do with you."

"They have everything to do with me," Crowley hissed. "If you had cared at any point to educate yourself beyond watching cheap pornos and reading the backside label of the appalling whiskey you consume, you'd have realized that the Norse pantheon reflects the system of belief in my department. Our department. Which means, you ignorant little boy, that if their world goes to hell, so does this one because if you eradicate one the other will be pulled with it to uphold equilibrium. The universe is tilting and a war in Valhalla _will_ make an impact here, big enough to be the final straw before the universe turns itself inside out for the lovely Gabriel." Crowley drank yet another gulp of the whiskey and slammed down the glass on the table. "They have a fallen god. They have Hel set loose. They have a pissed and very annoyed queen of Hel, angry with her father, we have-"

"Her... _father_?" Sam blinked. "Gabriel has a daughter?"

"Yes. And several sons, none of them human. Does it bloody _matter_?"

"Er- no." Crowley was right. It didn't.

"The reflection of the Norse realm in our part of the universe is dangerous," Crowley said. "Although we are separate, the likeness creates a connection and Gabriel might be able to exploit that. We, in turn, have a fallen angel stuck in a hole with yet another archangel. We have a Hell, or rather _I_ have, and we need an army to fight Gabriel if he decides that he is going through Valhalla to get to us. If he decides that _my_ demons would be a fine addition to his army, we are, in a language you understand, screwed. He'll kill us all. And by us, I mean _all_ of us. The Earth. Heaven. Hell. And I must admit," Crowley said, taking in a deep breath, "that being the ruler of Hell is little amusing if Earth is empty. I prefer status quo. All the perks that go with it. I think I have said that before. You know, at that time when you incompetent fools let Lucifer loose."

Dean staggered over to the table. "Chair," he demanded.

Sam hurried to get up. "Are you-"

"I'm fine. _Fine_." Dean looked as if he did not want to be contradicted.

"Yeah, you look really good, Dean," Crowley said. "Like you have at least five minutes left to live in. So... here's the deal, boys. You are going to release some of the weight that weighs down your side of the seesaw. Not dropping it, just enough to let the world find its balance again."

"And how's that different from what Joshua asked us to do?" Dean rested his head in his hands. "Except all we do is to sit here and wait for the war to happen or the universe to tilt into nothingness." 

"Wow. A full sentence. With real words in it. Impressive. Very articulate, Winchester." Crowley snorted. "It's different because I know how you might get Gabriel's attention. And because you're not going to sit down for much longer. You're going with me to Valhalla."

The well was a beautiful spot. The water was clean and clear, shining from the pure grace it contained. Behind it, just outside the forest, lay a house. It was a hall, the gilded, carved wood glittering in the morning sun. A flock of swans, so white their feathers shone bright silver, floated idly on the surface of the small lake. Everything breathed peace and harmony. One the other side of the lake, a gigantic ash raised its branches towards the sun; a stately, ancient tree, older even, than the gods and Earth. 

Idun looked into up into the leaves. The tree was green despite the early fall and the even earlier snow that had already covered parts of Asgard. Its roots dug deep: under one of them Hél's domain lay, deep down into the ground. In the middle of the tree, between the branches, Midgard lay. The norns took good care of the World Tree, for it was written that if the Ash Yggdrasil died, so would the nine realms that contained everything that had ever lived; the place that some called _the universe_. She put her hand gently on the old tree's gnarled bark. The tree shivered under her touch, for was she not a lover of trees and all plants growing. She smiled as the World Tree acknowledged her. "The Ash Yggdrasil has been nursed this morning," she said, feeling the soil under her feet give: it was still moist from the holy water that had been poured over its roots. The air smelled faintly of wet earth and rotting leaves. There was a scent of snow in the air that worried Idun. If winter was coming here, to the place where their world had its beginning... She started walking around the tree, searching for the entrance to Hel. It wasn't difficult to find it. Idun knew, however, that only those whose home was in Hel were able to walk through the dark passage between Asgard and Hél's domain.

And those who rode Odin's steed, like Loki had done four days ago, the only horse in the nine realms strong enough to carry him there.

Odin followed her, silent. He knelt in front of the dark gates, tracing the deep prints of fast hooves. "It saddens me beyond belief," Odin said. "My brother rode here, to Hel and back to take with him warriors enough to start Ragnarok. I fear that we must resort to drastic measures, Idun. War is coming. The end of times."

She nodded. She understood. "We must ask the norns to make the weave of war?"

"Yes." Odin didn't waver. "Or we will all perish and what is written shall be unwritten." He made a wry smile. "I wish to die as the prophecy tells us for I want Baldur to rise. I will war against my brother to make it so."

Idun nodded, reluctant. "War. And the norns will use a weft of our enemies' entrails and they will weight the warp with the heads of the demons we slay," she said, saddened by the course fate had taken. "I will prepare for the battle that comes," she said, mourning already those who would die.

There was little else to say. If the norns agreed, they would weave the grisly fabric of war, turning the tide in Valhalla's favor. It hadn't been the first time Loki had turned upon them like a mad dog, only to come crawling back, tail between its legs. It was, though, the first time he had done so in such a harsh and determined manner, as if there was no compassion left in him, no love for anything but power and death. Idun knew Odin would not submit to Loki. Not when their fate would be as grim as the one which would befall them when Loki's demons lay siege on Valhalla. Asir and Àsynjar fought with pride and on equal terms. Peaceful as she was, Idun refused to bow down to the god of strife and mischief as well for it meant death, she was certain. Cowards were killed in cowardly ways and she was not a coward. There was more at stake now than pride and honor, though. They would all join the last battle. None of them would go quietly, only to disappear when Ragnarok began and the nine realms would be swallowed entirely by Loki's son, the World Serpent.

She would fight to the bitter end for what she believed in and loved.

 

Walking slowly across the meadow, they went into the shadows where the norns usually sat, tending their work. Idun had accepted the inevitable: that they had to disturb the peace of this quiet place to force the balance of the realms back into its natural equilibrium. Still, Idun hoped in her heart that the norns would refuse. They did not spin the fate of men into thread just for it to be used for the benefit of warfare. Conflict and imbalance made Idun feel like a wilted plant; her joy of life was disappearing. She liked predictability. She liked how flowers bloomed, how her trees grew and how tiny, new apples matured and gave life and health to the gods. She liked the constant circle of spring and harvest. She liked how everything had their place in the universe.

It was with a heavy heart she stepped into the cool shadows beneath the trees. Walking from the golden light into the soft twilight blinded Idun for a moment. The ground was slick and wet under her feet. The smell of blood and gore hit her like a hammer. She faltered, somehow knowing already what she would see. She stopped, her feet still in the slippery pool she had stepped in. For a second she hoped that the grim reality would disappear if she just kept quiet, if she didn't think, if she didn't do anything. Around her, the birds were quiet. Not even the rustle of mice beneath the fallen leaves could be heard. There was just silence and the stench of death.

A sudden gust of wind opened the thick ceiling of leaves, letting through a flicker of light. She reached for Odin, holding on to his strong arm, for she did not have the strength to stand. It was as if the short look at the carnage rushed reality back into her mind. "Odin... No." The tiny hope she'd clung to was shattered, too, broken. She looked into the darkness, looked at the spot where the bodies lay, cut open, their intestines tangled together in a mockery of the loom and the weave. There were violations of nature so vile and cruel that no one, not even the worst, most despicable coward, would resort to such evil and this was one such violation.

The shadows were merciful. The crimson faded into black, but the stench of blood and rotting flesh was overwhelming, still, stabbing harshly into her denial. Idun wiped off a tear before she kneeled on the blood-smeared ground. A few fat flies buzzed around, reluctant to leave their delicious meal. The wind had died out again, the leaves of the Ash Yggdrasil and of the norns' forest silent. Odin stood, leaning on his staff. Perhaps he would fall if he did not cling to it. Idun could see tears on his rugged cheeks. "My sisters," Odin said, his voice void of feelings, just tired and empty and without hope. "Our sisters are dead."

"The loom is gone," Idun said, spotting across the mutilated corpses of the three norns the splintered wood of the loom's frame. "It has been destroyed." She wiped off her blood-stained hands in her white dress, not wanting to contaminate the holy well with blood. They would all have blood on their hands before the day was over. "I did not think that Loki could sink so low. He has no honor. He is nothing but grief and hate." She looked up at Odin. "Oh, my Lord. What are we going to do? The fate of man is now without meaning, without direction! Who will help us guard the thread that holds together the past and the present?"

"We have no future," Odin said and his voice was now rough with grief. "No past. Now Ragnarok will be a blessing to us, may it come soon so we can be wiped clean of this sight."

Above the old god, two black birds soared towards the World Tree and disappeared into its branches.

"Nobody is going anywhere!" A voice boomed through the room and one of the windows disintegrated in a shower of shards. "Crowley!" 

"Oh, no." Crowley sighed annoyed and rolled his eyes. "We were just getting along so well, and then the white-hats arrive." Crowley stood, glass still in hand. "Joshua. I wish I'd be able to say it is nice to see you again, but my personal preference as well as the circumstances would make that a blatant lie."

"Oh, just what we needed. More fighting," Sam snapped and shook off shards of glass from the back of his shirt. A piece of the wood from the frame slid from the top of his head onto the table. He smiled tersely at Joshua and Inias. "Could we hold the war until Dean and I have had the possibility to get the fuck out of here, please?"

"Bitter, are we, having lost the nerd angel? As I understand it," Crowley said, smirking, "you are still merely human and not exactly in a position to refuse any help offered to you, angelic or not. And you are most definitely not in a position to interfere with my negotiations with Joshua."

"Now he even sounds like Cas," Sam murmured. Maybe angels and demons alike had to take a course, _Stilted Speech 101_ , to pass into Heaven or Hell. Jesus! 

"He sounds nothing like Cas," Dean murmured. "Cas has style."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I offend your boyfriend?" Crowley said, ignoring the glare Dean sent him. Crowley turned to Joshua once more, looking as arrogant as he usually did. "I wasn't going to kidnap your poster boys. Believe it or not, I was actually trying to help. I swore that I would not hurt them, Joshua, and I do not go back on my word as you very well know."

"If by 'word' you mean seventy-five pages of contract?" Joshua's eyes glittered dangerously. "I am a peaceful man, Crowley. But not all my brothers and sisters are as calm as I. One might... slip, if we suspect that you are violating our rather unusual agreement. Just remember that—before you get yourself in trouble."

"Yes, yes." Crowley waved a hand defensively. "Since you are here, I assume you have examined the thread? Did you bring it?"

"He is _not_ touching my thread!" Dean said with conviction. "Why is it that everybody wants to grope my fate?"

Sam tried not to laugh. It was a serious matter, but still. "I don't think Joshua would allow Crowley to touch your erm- fate if it was dangerous to you, Dean."

"Of course not," Joshua said. "The thread without the loom poses no threat. What poses a real problem is that Dean has a thread of fate at all." Joshua put a hand in one of the pockets of his pants and pulled out the small Ziploc bag. "It is indeed a thread of fate, just as we thought. Dean's fate; the reason he is caught in the middle of this. My theory has been confirmed." Joshua paused, maybe thinking about how to explain the inexplicable. "Dean's fate is connected to the Norse pantheon through Gabriel, the god we now know as Loki. And here, in our part of the universe, Dean's fate is connected to..." Joshua's eyes softened. "To Castiel. Two brothers pulling from each their side of the universe, pulling between being and not being, between loving and not loving. Killing and keeping alive."

"What about it? Are they going to tear me in two and share?" Dean looked very tired. "And how does Gabriel... I mean, the thread is here and not on whatever loom it is you're talking about."

"And therein lies part of the problem. That is why I wanted to take you with me to Valhalla," Crowley said. "May I?" He looked at Dean with an almost kind expression. Dean sighed again and nodded. Sam was impressed that Dean didn't say anything truly offensive. Joshua handed Crowley the thread without a comment.

Crowley examined the piece of string thoroughly. "A knot for every death he dealt..." Crowley was speaking to himself, pulling up a magnifying glass from a pocket. "Hmm... there... bits and pieces..." He finally looked up. "As if killing Dean hundreds of times wasn't enough, there are remains of Gabriel's—that would be Loki's—own thread of fate here." Crowley put the thread down on the table. He offered the magnifying glass to Dean. Sam appreciated the sudden polite gesture. "There. Tiny golden lint. He couldn't do it without entangling his own fate with yours. He might have thought that he could, but no matter that his intention wasn't to kill you, the sheer amount of killing and reviving... Whether you want it or not, your destiny is tied to Gabriel's. Wouldn't have been a problem if our Gabe hadn't decided to jump to the dark side. The really bad news is that there is little you can do about it. Unless you have the power to extract your thread from his which you do not."

Fuck. Dean was tied up worse than they'd thought he'd be. Okay, so the balance of the universe somehow had decided that they were in the middle of this extraordinary mess, but having Gabriel tied so closely to Dean was bad. Very bad. Sam felt his heart sink. He did not want to lose Dean to a soulless murderer, one who was as bad or perhaps worse than Lucifer. At least Lucifer loved, wanted. Lucifer wasn't cold, he was _burning_ cold. He wasn't dead inside the way that Gabriel might be. And when Lucifer sounded like the better deal, Sam knew there was reason to worry. To be honest it scared him shitless because he knew he'd take Gabriel to Lucifer any day.

"So, how do we cut the connection? Will it restore balance?" Sam wanted the angelic army that Joshua had promised him so that he could go and do.... something. Behind his fear and anger there was something else, pity, sympathy for the archangel who had fallen so deep without wanting it to happen. Sam was sure that Gabriel hadn't wished for this to happen. Gabriel would never have wanted to be without his soul or grace.

"We need Castiel more than we thought," Joshua said. "He is pivotal, for he is the only being in the universe strong enough to even out the pull Gabriel has on Dean."

"I can hardly wait," Crowley said coldly. "I have missed Castiel so."

"Bet you have," Dean commented. "It isn't as if I haven't tried. Praying."

"And what a stunning success that was. Surprisingly." Crowley's sarcasm was thick enough to build a house from. "Which is why I came to offer my assistance; funny how you haven't yet realized the obvious problem in your little let's-lure-the-angel-out-game."

"And what would that problem be?" Dean asked, frowning, "That Cas isn't interested? Of course he's interested."

"That Cas isn't interested in what you have offered him until now."

"What?" Dean managed to look very much alive. "I am the hottest piece of ass alive and dammit if Cas wouldn't want a piece of that!"

"Thank you. May I express my deep-felt disinterest in your preference for bottoming, please."

"I am _not_ -" Dean blushed violently. "I haven't even tri-"

"Dean, please!" Sam stepped between Crowley and Dean. "Let Crowley explain."

Crowley nodded, his mouth tight as if he had difficulties keeping his anger at bay. "None of you have offered him forgiveness yet? Redemption?"

The mere experience, hearing those words from Crowley of all people, was enough to make everybody stop what they were doing and just stare.

"No? I thought so. Embarrassing, wouldn't you say, to have that exact problem pointed out to you by the King of Hell?"

"I have," Dean interrupted, "but Cas didn't listen."

Joshua coughed lightly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Well."

The world was entirely surreal. Sam had a feeling that he was thrown into one of Gabriel's post-modern roller coaster rides, only it would be so much more amusing than standing in a ruined motel room with God's gardener, an angel dressed up in an FBI suit and the King of Hell. And his brother, of course, who had sold himself for the price of a DIY-angel puzzle.

"So, our problem is that we all think there is nothing to forgive, basically. Since neither of us have thought about it?" Sam looked at the others, almost as if he was demanding an explanation for their failure.

"I think there is," Crowley said. "Rather a lot, actually. But luckily I am not the forgiving type. Don't think I count. But you, Sam, and of course hot-arse there." Crowley sent Dean a look that contradicted the notion of Dean's ass being anything hotter than lukewarm. "You have to offer him forgiveness for what holds him back from pulling himself together. Literally."

"Easily done," Joshua said. "We will all do that; Castiel's sacrifices have more than adequately made up for his mistakes."

Sam pondered for a moment. "Dean is tied to Cas on one end and to Gabriel on another. But Gabriel... he messed with me in the same way, although he didn't kill me. At least I don't think he even considered trying. Why am I not bound to him?"

"Because," Crowley said. "You decided long time ago to join the God-mongers contrary to your nihilistic brother. You're in God's fanclub on this side, boy-o. No hook for the Norse gods to pull in. If you have a hook-" Crowley stopped himself and a satisfied grin spread on his face. "See, I _knew_ there would be something in it for me."

Worrying. Crowley looked like the Cheshire Cat. Sam didn't dare think of what cunning plan the demon had come up with. Then again, he'd better. "And what do you have in mind?"

"Listen. Broken, tied to a fallen angel just before a pending apocalypse. Heard that before? And who was it that talked Gabriel into an attack on Lucifer? You should know, Sam, because it was you and your brother. The impact of your actions on Gabriel's fate is..." Rubbing his hands, Crowley grabbed the whiskey and downed a gulp. "This could be good. And it could actually also work. If we could tie Gabe's end of the thread to you in some way, you might be able to pull him up from the hole he's sitting in instead of pushing him deeper into one. He'd want you. He'd want out and up if we dangle you in front of him, he'd seek you out. Probably for revenge, but dammit, we can work with that. Getting him back on this side of the realm, my friends, would do a great deal to restore the balance, I bet."

"And insert violins and your ass smells of roses when you fart. Where's the catch, Crowley?" Dean had found a bit of zest and was glaring at the King of Hell. "You are not by any chance trying to land my brother in a cage with _three_ archangels in it, are you?"

"No matter how pleasing the image is, no. What's in it for me is that it will make sure that Sam does not take other offers. Or that he's forced to take other offers. Like in... let's say... saying _yes_ to Lucifer in case the disturbance breaks open the cage. You know, in return for Lucy not starting the _other_ apocalypse."

"I already told Lucifer yes." Sam felt sick by the thought. "He doesn't need to ask for permission." Lucifer surely wouldn't take no for an answer and Sam understood where Crowley was coming from. Their priority would be to keep Lucifer from getting a hold of Sam and at the same time keeping Gabriel from ruining the universe. The problem with Gabriel was that he had imagination. If he wanted Sam for a vessel, he'd come up with something so outrageous that Sam had no choice but to accept. In short: Sam was screwed either way. It was better to prepare for the worst and keep the damage control running.

 

Sam had expected an outraged protest from the angels. But Joshua merely nodded. "Interesting concept." Joshua looked at Crowley, thoughtful. "Sam is strong. Strong enough to resist for some time. Sam is tied to Dean of course, as Dean is tied to him. He is tied to Castiel by friendship and Castiel knows Sam's soul. A strong tie, indeed. It would be very difficult to pull Sam to the dark side. Although we have no threads of fate, it could work. It is in our favor that Gabriel has a vessel already, one he likes." Joshua pursed his lips. "The intent of willingly bonding with Gabriel is perhaps enough to get a slight grip on him. And maybe... if we found Gabriel's grace and persuaded him to take it back... then we could pull him to our side-"

"You could restore his angel side. His soul." Sam understood. He did. He loved his brother and despite the civil war that Heaven had lived through, Sam had no doubt that the angelic brothers and sisters loved each other dearly. They wouldn't fight so bitterly, had that not been the case. It was not difficult to understand that Joshua wanted Gabriel back, too. Gabriel had been the one who had loved most of all the angels Sam had ever met. He had loved enough to leave his family, loved them enough to return, and finally he had loved them enough to attempt murder for the sake of peace. "I'll do it," Sam said. The words left his mouth before his thought was thought to an end. There was nothing to lose, and if he were to tie himself to any archangel it would be Gabriel.

Angels were, as Dean usually said, all dicks with wings, and Norse demi-gods weren't lacking dickage either. But Lucifer was a no-go and unfortunately being re-possessed by the Devil presented a severe risk if the universe was upended and Satan got his hands on Sam's body. Sam could resist Lucifer for some time, but not forever. If the room was no longer vacant, if Sam was tied to Gabriel, Lucifer had to find somewhere else to go. Sam didn't think that Gabriel would willingly give up anything to Lucifer. There was also the upside that Sam had fought Gabriel before—and won. He could do it again. In the middle of the mess and the pending universal disaster it was a win-win situation. "I'll tie myself to Gabriel," Sam repeated, "and get him back. I swear."

Four pair of eyes looked at him, shocked. "Sam, no." Dean stood only to sit down again when his legs gave out. "You can't. You promised me, no deals with angels or demons. You can't!"

"I just did. Also, Gabriel is neither. There's still a chance that Joshua and Inias can find Gabriel's grace and his soul, right? You have Cas. I-" Sam felt oddly at peace with his decision.

"Not yet. Sammy, please, you can't do that. It's _Gabriel_. He's going to eat you alive!"

"Dean, it'll work. And he takes up the space from Lucifer, if..." Sam didn't think he had to finish that particular sentence. "You get Cas back and I'll go fishing for an archangel," he said, managing a weak smile. "I've heard they bite easily this time of the apocalypse."

Sam knew it was the right thing to do. It gave them one more chance. He knew how it felt to be soulless, knew how it was to live in that clean, clear world of rights and wrongs, defined only by what was good for _Sam_. If anyone would be able to stand up to Gabriel it would be Sam Winchester. If anyone had a chance to understand how Gabriel felt it would be Sam. If anyone could make Gabriel long for his soul to return, Sam would be that person. That was what he could do and it sounded much better than a full-out war.

Dean gave up and banged his head into the table. "You're going to do this for _Gabriel_?"

"For the universe, Dean. Maybe we don't fuck up this time."

Crowley coughed something that sounded like _right_.

Ignoring it, Sam turned to the demon and demanded, "what do I have to do? Go to... Valhalla with you, and then what?"

"The other angel first. Castiel." Crowley wrinkled his nose as if the mere thought of Cas's return offended him. "Then we find the loom and Gabriel's thread of fate. Didn't think it would be easy, did you?"

Of course he didn't. That would be a first.

 

**6\. Desire and Death**

Gabriel woke up to the smell of rotting flesh and blood. He knew it shouldn't have bothered him at all; he usually killed people, demons, angels... anyone who deserved it without as much as a second thought. Only the victims of yesterday's attack hadn't been deserving. On the other hand, those who got in his way must be wiped off the surface of the Earth and off any other realm in existence. Gabriel was a god; _the_ god, and damn it if he'd let three entitled bitches tear his plans apart just so he could feel merciful and benevolent. Still, the tangible proof of the massacre made him feel... uncomfortable for he hadn't wanted them dead. The stench of gore reminded him that they were. Although he hadn't participated in the slaughter of the norns, he still had their blood on his hands.

He turned in his narrow fur-lined cot. Long, brown hair on the pillows and broad shoulders pressed against his own made Gabriel's heart make a surprising jump. Then Mandsbane turned in his sleep and pulled Gabriel back to reality. The foreign feeling of longing and guilt made Gabriel suspect that he was getting soft. He would not allow himself such foolishness. It was better to be analytic and cold. Sensible. The beauty of being soulless. Mandsbane sighed and slung an arm around Gabriel's waist. Gabriel realized that he was annoyed to find Mandsbane asleep in his bed. Gabriel did _not_ share his bed with such a low creature, no matter how attractive a body. He felt a sudden disgust with the demon that covered up nicely the disgust he felt with himself.

He elbowed Mandsbane. "Out!" The demon stank. If at least he'd washed the remains of blood and intestines off before he'd come to Gabriel's bed. Gabriel hadn't noticed it the night before; he'd just needed someone to fuck. He sighed deeply, watching Mandsbane disappear, half dressed. God, it was hard to get decent help these days; one should think it obvious to clean up after a killing. With bodily fluids smeared over his sleeping furs, Gabriel knew it had been a mistake to send his general to take care of the norns. He was less than satisfied to learn that Mandsbane and the demons he'd picked out for the job had amused themselves, tearing the goddesses apart. Literally. They should have been taken hostage. Useful to have. Now it was too late.

It occurred to Gabriel that he had perhaps reveled a bit too much in the perfection of his new crisp and clear mind. He frowned at the unfamiliar feeling of... conscience. It annoyed him. He had this grating feeling that he somehow had made... mistakes, that he'd overlooked something in this perfect plan of his. The thought was disturbing because his mind was in this stiletto-sharp and pure state. He did _not_ make mistakes. Only he had. He should have seen it. He shouldn't have counted on Mandsbane being smart enough to bring back the norns as prisoners: the obvious thing to do.. Why in the world would Gabriel _need_ to point that out to a high-ranking officer who should be able to understand the elementary tactics of war?

Mandsbane would lose his head before sundown, Gabriel decided. The mere idea made him feel much better. Mandsbane only had himself to blame. Fortunately for him, he wouldn't have much time left to do so.

Gabriel used the morning in a luxuriously large wooden tub filled with steaming hot water, scrubbing and soaking until every atom of blood and demon stench had been removed. He had time to indulge. With an army of Hel-spawn he didn't have to hurry; he could move them with a wave of a hand. He liked the marching and the tents and the feeling of going to war, though. He liked to know that his enemies knew that they were coming for them. He liked to let Odin wait in anticipation of the battle that would come.

Gabriel groaned and stretched in the hot water. He snapped his fingers and one of the young demons who served as his page held out a silver bowl of dried, caramelized fruits and nuts. Gabriel took a handful, enjoying the crunchy sweetness, one delicious piece at a time. He considered whether he should demand a blow job from the demon to go with the delicacies, but abstained. The young man was short and blond and blue-eyed and it did nothing for Gabriel. Instead he grabbed another handful of honey-covered fruits, moaning at the taste of apples and almonds and cinnamon. He'd rather stay celibate than make do with something that wasn't exactly what he wanted.

Or who.

 

Bloðörn dragged Mandsbane out from the tent where he'd been tied up. The former general had decided not to die a coward, for he stood tall and calm in front of Gabriel, looking into his eyes with a similarly calm expression in his dark eyes. Gabriel acknowledged Mandsbane's bravery with a slight nod; he'd been Loki long enough to have some respect for the will to die bravely, staring proudly into the eyes of death.

The army was gathered around the small hill upon which Gabriel had ordered the decapitation. Gabriel stood quietly on top of it, feet buried in the snow that seemed to follow him wherever he went, as if his cool mind carried with it a meteorological system in itself. He rested his hands casually on his old sword, a beautiful sword, engraved with spring flowers and enamel. Not a sword for an execution. For a moment he felt a foreign flash of loss; he missed the feeling of the short angel sword, the sensation of the blade that fit so perfectly in his hand. He liked his old sword better, though. It was a superior weapon, one he'd used for so long that it felt like an extension of his arm. Gabriel let his eyes glide over his army. There was a time where he'd commanded a host of angels, strong and fierce. He'd been the supreme commander of an army fighting for the humans that God had created. Now... Gabriel shook his head and huffed. Now his army was nothing but unworthy creatures, crawling beneath him.

A few soldiers were laughing and taunting their former officer and Gabriel whipped around, his anger flaring. The group disappeared in a bright light, flames roaring towards the blue afternoon sky. "The next man to disrespect honor and bravery will not be as lucky," Gabriel said and his voice carried. "Anyone else has something to say about General Mandsbane? I am certain I can manage a few more deaths before nightfall."

The entire army fell quiet. Nobody spoke. "Thought so," Gabriel said and turned to Mandsbane. "Kneel."

Mandsbane didn't say anything, he merely fell onto one knee, his head raised high. "My Lord." There was resignation in his eyes, as if he'd come to accept his fate.

Gabriel felt a sting in his heart, a tug, an echo of something lost, the weak sound of somebody calling him from afar, leaving only the echo to be heard across the void. He stared at the man at his feet and he was suddenly more familiar, more than a demon, more than the disgusting filth he'd taken to bed as not to feel... lonely. He stared in wonder at the almond eyes and the mop of unruly brown hair.

"Sam," he gasped soundlessly, biting down fast on the word before it left his mouth. "What-"

Then the universe shook and Mandsbane was just Mandsbane: tall and broad-shouldered and almond-eyed, but unmistakably Mandsbane and not some young upstart human that Gabriel once knew. Gabriel shivered, suddenly unsure of what had brought on the glimpse of the past. Taking a deep breath, letting out a quiet stream of air, Gabriel raised his sword, for a second admiring the sparkle of the polished, sharp iron. Then he turned it and shoved it back into its sheath.

"Rise," Gabriel said. "Rise, General Mandsbane, and return to your office."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill a man just for being in his bed at the wrong time and for being a bit eager. He simply couldn't and it felt both right and wrong. There was something in him that was stopping him from killing so casually, and Gabriel wanted to know why. What. Until then, Gabriel wanted to keep alive the creature in front of him.

Mandsbane _was_ a competent officer, despite his short killing spree. Keeping his handsome head on his similarly handsome shoulders might not be entirely stupid. And tonight Gabriel would make sure that Mandsbane understood his position, which in the foreseeable future would not include anything remotely horizontal.

Gabriel had indulged in pleasure for too long. He needed to step up and be the god he intended to be. Tomorrow they would lay siege on Valhalla and he would take his position as lord of the realm.

Sam laughed, giddy, as Joshua, Inias and Crowley left the motel room in favor of the bar across the street, leaving them some privacy to make yet another attempt to pray to Castiel. "A gardener, an angel and the King of Hell walked into a bar," Sam said, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened the last few days. "You think they're going to say their prayers to Castiel over there? Or... God, this is insane." 

"No, you're insane." Dean was back on the bed, looking even more tired and worn out. "No more deals, you said. No more bonding, no more risking souls or... Fuck, Sam, how could you do it?"

Opening his eyes, Sam realized that Dean had closed his. "Gabriel... he tried to save us and died in the attempt. He died for all of us, Dean."

"Don't. Sam, you know him. Don't try to apologize for him. He's probably the most dangerous of all the archangels, maybe worse than Lucifer; Lucifer's predictable after all. Getting Gabriel back broken, worse than before? I don't think that's a good idea. I think it's enough with the crazy."

Sam had made a vow, if not to Gabriel, then to Joshua. He couldn't go back. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "If I don't try, Dean, we'll all be dead in a few days. I swore that I'd do it, and there is no going back. I gave Joshua my word. What do I have to lose? We're dead anyway if we don't try."

"Your soul, dammit!" The anger seemed to tire Dean out further. "You really want me to point that out to you? You really want to test its endurance?"

"No. Seems we both have sacrifices to make if we are gonna avoid the apocalypse. Wanna swap? I don't mind being Cas's boyfriend, then you can go fight Gabriel and Lucifer." A bit low, that punch, but Sam didn't regret his promise to Joshua and to Gabriel. Anything to avoid Lucifer. And the apocalypse.

"I'll be tied to Cas for eternity," Dean growled. "Not enviable, Sammy. And you can't have him. Cas's mine!" Dean looked jealous; he actually looked jealous.

"Thanks, Dean, but I'll go get my own angel. There's a surplus these days." It dawned on Sam that he'd be in the same situation as Dean was with Cas. Only Cas was in love with Dean. Gabriel... he didn't love anything or anyone if what Crowley said was true. Sam still found it preferable to the alternative, Lucifer moving in with him. Not on. So not on! Sam had had enough by far, sitting in a hole with the devil and his angry, dysfunctional brother. If Sam were to look at some archangel gone bad for eternity he'd rather it be Gabriel. At least Gabriel was cute and he had the most amazing golden eyes. The thought made Sam cringe. He hated the little bastard, if not as much as he hated Lucifer and Michael.

Attempting to distract himself from the problem, Sam went over to sit on the bed. Dean really didn't look too good.

"Need a beer?"

"Water, Sam."

Water? Dean was worse than Sam thought. The presence of angels surely helped; Dean had been able to move around and speak when Joshua and Inias were there. Now his energy evaporated as quickly as it had returned in Joshua's company. Sam fetched a bottle from the fridge, twisting the cap to open it. He threw the cap in the sink and went to help Dean sit up properly. Dean gulped down the cool water hungrily, a few drops trickling down his chin to his chest. He was sweating.

"You're hot." Sam pressed his wrist against Dean's brow.

"Just hot?" Dean joked. "I'm drop-dead gorgeous."

"You okay? I mean... If you are, we should try Crowley's suggestion."

Dean made a gagging sound. "Because the King of Hell is such an authority on redemption and forgiveness."

"He's in the other camp, but he does know stuff, Dean. I mean... I'm sure he'd do anything to rake in some more souls for that standing-in-line-line of his."

Dean scrambled to sit up. Sam put an arm around his shoulder. Dean really was burning hot and not in the good way. The back of his t-shirt was wet and he smelled of sour sweat and sickness.

Dean moaned, his face sallow. He looked up at Sam with tired, feverish eyes. "Okay. Let's try it. I forgive you, Cas," Dean said without further preamble. "Although there is nothing to forgive, but if that's what you want, then I forgive you." His pale cheeks blushed with embarrassment. "I love you, Cas." Dean made a face. "God, this is ridiculous. Next, I'm reading self-help books. _Hundred and One Ways to Keep Your Angel Happy_ or shit like that. Wherever the fuck you are, Cas, get down here before I grow tits or my bits fall off! I fucking refuse to sit down to take a leak, so get your ass in gear, dude!"

Coughing, Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Man, that's the most beautiful declaration I've ever heard. I'm sure Cas will appreciate it. Especially the part about the tits."

"Ya think? He better be gay and not like the tits, for I am _not_ turning into a girl for him, I tell you!"

"Oh, so now you're not straight anymore? And he's an angel, not a guy."

"I'm- Oh, shut your face, bitch! I'm turning _Cassexual_. That has to do. Rather that than being fucked over by Gabriel." Dean managed to sound as acerbic as a puppy begging for treats. "Your turn."

"What? Turning gay? I'm sorry, Dean, but I don't think that's necessary. I'm not the one who's been in denial for years. And I don't have a Cas to lure in. And if I had, I wouldn't worry about gender, now that we're at it. Never was one for the straight and narrow anyway."

Except when he wanted Jess and the life that went with education, wife and children. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard to find that again, going as far as to abandon his brother for it. Now it hardly mattered anymore, any of it. Sam would embrace any relationship that would last longer than a few months, and so, he thought, should Dean. Although 'forever' with Cas probably could be seen as something relatively steady.

"Yeah, whatever. You mean—what? You're-"

"Not really that set on preferences, no. Come on, Dean, does it matter?" So what if it didn't bother him that he might have to be with Gabriel like that? There were worse things to Gabriel than his missing pussy. His missing soul, for instance.

Dean looked as if he was trying to think. "No, it doesn't matter. Just, you know, surprising. Do your thing, I do mine." The acceptance came unaccompanied by any acerbic comments. Then again, Dean wasn't in a position to judge that part of the deal Sam had made. "Your turn to pray to Cas!" Dean reached for the water once more, spilling half of it when he tried to drink. It was as if the new plea had weakened him. Maybe it cost him to reach out to Cas, using his energy and life-force to dish out the crude but heartfelt prayers. Dean's skin, wet from sweat, turned colder under Sam's hand, as if the slight sheen of sweat cooled him down far too quickly. Sam pulled the comforter over him, worrying more than he wanted Dean to see.

"Okay. So... Cas." Sam closed his eyes and folded his hands. "Please Cas, listen. I forgive you for anything you have done to me, because you never intended to hurt me, only to help. We all do things that go wrong. We all misjudge situations. We all take a wrong step once in a while, despite the wish to take a right. You have nothing to ask forgiveness for in my opinion. I know you care for me; you are my friend. I know you care for Dean, more than care, and he... he loves you. Castiel, I beg you, come back to us." Sam breathed in. "If you think you need redemption, don't you need to be here to actually get it? If you think you wronged us or wronged souls or humans or angels, then don't punish yourself by staying away. Come down here and work with us on setting the wrongs right that you want to put right."

"What he said, Cas," Dean whispered. "Amen and all."

 

Curling up next to Dean, Sam fell into an uneasy sleep, waking himself up every other hour, anxious that Dean might need something. But Dean slept, exhausted, not turning at all. His skin was burning at times, cold as ice at other. His breathing was strained and shallow, as if all he could manage was those little intakes of air, small portions of oxygen, merely enough to sustain him. The prayers and Dean's final admission that he loved Cas had taken the remains of his strength. Sam wished, not for the first time, that he could switch places with Dean. He was not cut out for war; he was weak, whereas Dean was strong, so strong. Dean would be the right man to lead Joshua's army, a righteous man as the commander of Heaven's force. Sam... he couldn't do it. He was broken, _wrong_.

Maybe that was why he'd offered to help Gabriel, or to fight him. He knew how to do it. He _knew_ Gabriel, he knew how to avoid the tricks or work around them; he knew the immense power that Gabriel had. Gabriel was an enemy he could deal with. Except Sam knew deep down that he wanted to save Gabriel instead of killing him. Gabriel was broken, too, lost, and Sam wanted to rectify that, even if he couldn't do anything to set the universe right. Maybe that was _his_ redemption for the many wrongs he'd done: to save an archangel or to die in the attempt.

 

Dawn came, gray fingers of light clutching at the thin curtains. There were no signs of Cas or of any other angel. The room was cold and damp. Dean lay as a limp form next to him; the only sign of life was the flutter of eyelids. Dean was dreaming.

Quietly, Sam got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of soft jeans and yesterday's t-shirt. He shuddered in the cool air, hurrying to turn off the air con. He put on the kettle for coffee; something warm would be good. He opened the curtains to the foggy morning, the sun still too far gone to be of any help. A pair of black birds perched in the scorched tree outside the window. One let out a dissonant scream that sounded like a warning. Sam suppressed an intense need to pull the curtains again, shielding Dean and himself from the beady eyes of the ravens in the three. The birds were so... aware, as if the birds were hiding other shapes behind the black feathers and the bird form. Worse, they reminded Sam of yet another pair of blue-black wings he'd prefer to see. "Oh, Cas," Sam groaned and went back to check on Dean. "Please!"

Stroking Dean's shoulder tenderly, Sam had a growing feeling of doom. Dean's skin was cold, colder than it had been when he fell asleep. He was gasping for air, inaudibly, but Sam could see his throat and chest work to take in enough to keep breathing. "Cas," Sam begged, "come. Before it's too late."

Dean woke with a cry. He sat up shockingly fast. "Cas!" There was so much longing in that plea that Sam's heart felt like it was being ripped out of his chest and he reached for Dean, as if to quiet him.

Then it was too late. Dean sank back into the pillows, his eyes staring open and wide into the ceiling, all life having left them.

"Dean? _Dean_!" Sam grabbed Dean's wrist. No pulse. "No! God!" Sam froze for an instant, hit by the knowledge that he'd have to go on without Dean. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. He needed Joshua. He could do something, he had to! Dean couldn't be... he couldn't...

The room darkened. Outside the window the ravens cried. The shock that had frozen Sam's heart and body lifted and he could move again. He turned and stood in one fast move, only to step into something hard and immovable.

"Dean called," Castiel said quietly. "I'm here."

 

**7\. In Flames**

"Thank God," Sam managed and meant it. The tears that lurked in the corners of his eyes broke out, trickling down his cheeks. "Hurry, Cas, before he-!"

"I am not God," Cas said, calm as usual. "And it is not too late." He sat down on the bedside, his face expressionless. He didn't look at Sam again, but Sam could see Cas's mouth widen into a soft smile. "Dean," Cas whispered, his voice not rough and deep as it used to be. It was silken and alluring, making Sam want to take a step forward. "Dean," Cas said again, reaching down, pulling Dean's lifeless body into his arms. "You made a promise. Come back. To me."

Sam could only watch in awe. He'd somehow known that Cas had feelings for Dean, they all had, but the love and care he exuded that moment showed how deep those feelings went. Cas had saved Dean over and over, but it was the first time Cas bared himself entirely, opening his heart, demanding a part of Dean for himself. For him alone and not because of the apocalypse or any of the other world-upturning events they'd been through together. This was Cas asking the man he loved to be with him. Sam willed Dean to return; more than anything he wished that Dean's death could be reversed so that his brother could have at least a few days of happiness with the angel who loved him deeply for being precisely who and what he was. Dean deserved it. A few moments of true happiness before the universe went down.

Sam wanted to ask if Cas really could make Dean come back, but he didn't dare utter as much as a syllable. Not only because it might break Cas's concentration but because this moment Sam felt he shouldn't even be present. It was _private_ , something between Cas and Dean.

"Dean," Cas whispered again before he bent down and pressed his lips to Dean's silent mouth. The kiss seemed to go on forever, or perhaps it was time standing still, Sam couldn't tell. Not a sound was heard, except for Sam's own quiet breathing. 

There was a loud rustle, wind moving trees and leaves outside. The gray, dim morning disappeared and a white light, clearer than the sun; grew brighter and brighter until Sam had to close his eyes. A lightning flashed, so close that it could just as well have been inside the room, and then everything fell dark.

Opening his eyes, Sam realized that the room merely was back to the same soft dawn gray it had been before. Cas turned his head and looked up at Sam. There was such joy in his eyes that Sam's hope flared, his heart beating so hard it felt as if it was going to make its way out of his chest.

"Cas?" Dean's voice was rough, raw with emotion.

One word. Then Dean slung his arms around Cas's neck and his mouth sought out Cas's lips. Had the room been filled with people neither of the two men on the bed would have noticed—or cared, for that matter. The kiss they shared was so intense, filled with such abandon that Sam felt deeply moved. When Dean gave in to his new-found Cassexual side, he certainly did it wholeheartedly.

Sam smiled, filled with a sense of joy and peace. For himself. For Dean.

God, there was hope for them and for a future that no longer seemed impossible. Sam watched for a moment before he turned away. There was hope for the universe, indeed. If Cas could pull this one through, there was nothing they couldn't do, Cas and Dean, as long as they were together.

Sam quietly left the room. The last thing he saw was Dean working off Cas's trench coat eagerly. Yeah, it was time to check the Impala. Or the weather. Or something else that kept Sam from watching his brother making love to an angel.

 

Despite the awkward situation he couldn't stop himself from grinning as he walked across the parking lot. His smile faltered slightly as he discovered Crowley on his way towards the motel. The demon had his hands full.

"Morning, Sam," Crowley greeted him cheerfully. "Coffee from Ethiopia, croissants from Paris."

"Eh?" Sam managed. He'd have settled for scrambled eggs from the diner.

"Now, before it gets cold." Crowley seemed extraordinarily chipper for someone who should be the gloomy King of Hell.

"I don't think... Cas... Dean... They-"

"Room next door. Joshua and Inias are nurturing their attempt at a hangover."

"A _hangover_? But-"

"Not really, no. But they had a go at one. Joshua liked the bar which is good, seeing that he drank it. Doubt there's any booze left in the entire state," Crowley said. "Are you coming or would you prefer go watch Dean do exactly that?"

Wincing, Sam asked, "is there anyone who _doesn't_ know what they're doing?"

"Probably not. A big event, no matter how you look at it."

"That Dean managed to put together an angel from more or less nothing?"

"No, Sam, that your brother finally admitted that he's gay for Castiel." Crowley rolled his eyes and started walking towards the motel. "What do you think? Of _course_ that the human Dean Winchester managed to bloody recreate an angel, moron. That's not something you see every day. I doubt that there is anywhere in the entire universe where it hasn't been in the news this morning. At least with those of us who knows which channel to tune into."

Oh, great. As long as Dean didn't know, Crowley would live. Maybe.

Sam trailed along to the room that Crowley had taken. Joshua and Inias looked tired. A remarkable feat, seeing that angels didn't need sleep. Inias was staring vacantly at the TV in the corner of the room, distractedly accepting the cup of coffee that Crowley offered him. Joshua took another cup, opening the lid and sniffing the content. "Harrar House AA?"

"If you weren't an angel," Crowley purred, "I'd kiss you. Good to know that at least somebody upstairs appreciate the little pleasures of life. Harrar, indeed."

"Didn't think you drank coffee," Sam said to Joshua before he took the cup Crowley offered him. Sam, too, opened the lid and took in the delicious smell of estate coffee. One could say a lot about Crowley, but his tastes certainly weren't cheap, not that Sam had any idea what a cup of coffee like that cost or if Crowley had paid for it.

"... _sudden violent volcanic eruption in Iceland forces immediate flight cancellations and the closure of airspace over the country's international airports. Alaska and countries such as Japan, Guatemala, and Nigeria have just reported similar instances of volcanic activity. We are following the development of this extraordinary natural phenomenon closely._ "

"It has begun?" Sam asked, staring at the screen. "The apocalypse?"

"I-" Joshua looked from the cup to the screen and back again. "No. Erm- I don't know, Sam. It's not what I'd believed would happen." Joshua was hiding something, Sam was sure of it. He eyed the angel suspiciously.

On TV the speaker paused as she was handed a piece of paper. In the few seconds of silence Sam could hear a dull, thumping sound from the room next door. Sam's mouth formed a round "o" as he recognized the rhythmic, creaking sound of a bed thrust up against a wall. Crowley mirrored his expression, one eyebrow so high up on his brow it looked as if it was going to elope with the demon's receding hairline.

" _French volcanologists seem to recognize a pattern in the emissions from the erupting volcanoes. They suggest that the volcanoes are connected as they consistently let out gases, ash or magma in a synchronized, increasingly faster rhythm_."

Inias turned away from the TV, his eyes large with embarrassment. "Am I supposed to feel like this?" he asked Joshua, obviously counting on his superior to know what he was talking about. His eyes flickered to the wall across the room.

The news had changed to pictures from a few of the erupting volcanoes shown together, and it became abundantly clear that the sounds from the room next door and the spurts of volcanic ash and magma were mirroring each other nicely, and, judging from the sounds, loudly.

"It's all right," Joshua said. "At least we know now that it worked out, the bond between Heaven and Earth."

Sam was just about to ask Inias to turn the TV off, then thought better of it, wondering if it was safer to keep an eye on things. He was not really interested in following Cas and Dean's relationship progress, though, neither live, nor by proxy. "Will it stop when they..."

"I believe so. Consummation is an integral part of such a bond, and when it's done, the eruptions should stop" Joshua explained. He waved a hand. "Allow me." The television turned off and the sounds from Dean's room were muted instantly. "I suppose we should leave them some privacy," Joshua said, unable to prevent a smile from tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. "I don't think the world is in danger as such. Unless a few delayed planes count."

"Wait... Consummation to make it work?" Sam blanched. "You're saying that I- Gabriel-" Sam slumped down on the closest bed, his head hanging.

"Sorry, Sam. I should have made that clear from the beginning. You were too fast, promising yourself to him before I could say anything."

There was that. Sam had agreed to a bond so fast that there had been little room for thinking. Sam had considered the possibility that they in time, if they saved Gabriel, might come to have to... consummate, but not so soon and not with a soulless Gabriel? Too late now, it was either Gabriel or chaos. "I know." Sam raised his head, accepting his fate. What else could he do? "Any coffee left?"

The coffee was fantastic, good enough to distract Sam from the unpleasantries that his brief future might hold and from whatever Dean and Cas were doing, setting the universe right.

 

Of course Sam should have known that Dean would be entirely unashamed about the ordeal. Well, not about the volcanoes, obviously. Luckily nobody mentioned those; the allusion was a bit much, and Dean's confidence did not need the boost. Knowing his dick made volcanoes erupt? Dean didn't need to know, really. Sam would never hear the end of it.

Except he would. For when Dean and Cas knocked on the door, both looking happy and worn out, Sam noticed Dean's careful steps when he entered. Dean was very reluctant, too, as he sat down on one of the chairs. Sam rubbed his hand over his lips, trying to camouflage the grin that threatened to reveal that Sam had discovered Dean's preference. Sam looked to Cas with even more respect than before he got Dean laid, and if he was to be honest, more respect for Dean who'd taken everything in stride, even letting Cas have what he wanted, how he wanted it.

Dean looked at them all testily. He had sex-hair. "My _boyfriend_ and I are done. Did we save the universe?"

Cas beamed at Dean's words. "It was very good to have intercourse with Dean. We shall try that again presently. I have-"

"Yes, thank you, Cas!" both Sam and Dean said at the same time.

Dean, however, looked smug and satisfied, more happy than Sam had seen him in a long time. Whatever had passed between Dean and Cas in Purgatory, it was over now, done with. "Cas saved you," Sam said, his relief expressed only by a brief touch of Dean's hand. "I thought you were going to die. But the universe seems rather happy. With you and Cas." There would be no elaboration on that one, at least not from Sam. There were limits. He refused to mention the volcanoes. Ever.

Dean shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time." He looked at Cas in a way that belied his casual indifference about death. "I'll try to cut down, okay." Cas put a hand on Dean's shoulder on the exact spot where his hand print was etched into Dean's skin. Dean had clearly decided to suck it up and embrace the destiny fate had dealt him. He didn't even flinch at the touch. He merely turned around and looked up at Cas as if he was the second coming of Christ, which was a little bit too close to the truth to be comfortable.

Joshua patted Cas on the back. "Good to see you back, brother. Took you awhile."

Cas's expression expressed nothing. "As I understood it, I had to be punished with the everlasting destruction from the presence of our father, and from the glory of his power. I am not sure how having sex with Dean and being tied to him forever as his husband fit into that, Joshua. I have never felt closer to God than when I- Dean-" Cas blushed and shut his mouth.

Sam looked from Cas to Dean and back again. Had Cas just got a little more passion and Dean a bit more of Cas's stoic behavior? Dean didn't even flinch at the mentioning of the word _husband_. The bond might truly work.

"You punished yourself, Castiel," Joshua said. "Everything has been forgiven long time ago. You should enjoy your connection with our father's chosen one instead of questioning what is given to you." Joshua's mild eyes showed only appreciation. "And with that out of the way, perhaps we should plan our next steps? So that my little brother may have _forever_ with his human."

Crowley went outside and returned within a minute with more coffee, this time from Hawaii, donuts from Oregon and a gigantic plate of eggs, bacon and sausages, apparently from the diner across the street. He sat down the plate in front of Dean. "Didn't take you for a donut man. There's apple pie in that one." He pointed at a small box on top of the donut-box.

"If I wasn't already in with the dude over there, I'd marry you," Dean said and pulled the plate closer. His stomach growled loudly. "Dammit, Crowley, you're a bastard, but you have taste." Dean dug in, moaning as he stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth.

"I suppose I should feel flattered, Winchester. I think I'll pass, though." Crowley wrinkled his nose; it was clear what he thought. He sat down and took a cup. "Let's get on with it, angels. We don't have all the time in the world."

As Joshua pulled out a chair to sit, a tapping on the window stopped him. He let the chair go and looked at Crowley, slightly guilty. "Your little birds."

Two ravens, gigantic blue-black ravens sat on the window sill, watching them. "What are those?" Sam asked, reaching for his knife. The birds were so big it couldn't be natural. "Where do they come from? I saw them yesterday, too. And this morning."

Crowley simply stood, walked over to the window and let the birds in. They both fluttered inside, going directly for Dean's breakfast plate. One managed to steal a sausage before Dean waved them off. "Fuck off, you are _so_ not touching my food!"

"Messengers," Crowley said. "From Odin."

There was little that could surprise Sam these days. Ravens. Messengers from Odin, sure. From another realm. To a demon and God's gardener. Sam leaned back into the uncomfortable chair. His world, what little there was left of it, had taken a turn into the surreal that Sam hadn't anticipated. Of course. His brother was sort-of-married to an angel, the universe was set to turn over and cease, and Odin sent birds with messages. That was perfectly all right with Sam, because nothing could surprise him any longer.

Except Gabriel, perhaps. And then again, probably not.

Sam took a strawberry jelly donut and decided to go with the flow. "You are speaking with _Odin_? With the, erm, competition? Shouldn't you have told us this?" Obviously Odin had been busy after recreating himself and Gabriel. "So, what does the message say? If you're okay with telling me; I'm just the dude you have asked to lead your damned army if we go to war." Sam's mouth pursed into a tight little bud, showing how annoyed he was feeling about being left out.

One of the ravens stepped onto Crowley's hand as he offered it to the bird. The raven made small hoarse sounds that might have made sense to Crowley and Joshua, but to Sam they had no meaning.

Dean was shoveling down eggs, but his eyes were as sharp as ever; green and clear, following every move of the birds. Cas moved closer to Dean, protective and almost possessive, maybe expecting the worst.

For the first time since Crowley had returned with Joshua on tow, the King of Hell looked rattled. "Gabriel has murdered the three goddesses of fate and destroyed their loom," Crowley said, not bothering to lessen the blow. "The norns are gone. Our plans..." He threw up his hands. No words were necessary.

"We should have known that an alliance with Odin might not be our best idea," Joshua said. "I wonder if that is why Gabriel had taken to such actions. I fear this connection with the Norse gods have disrupted more than it has worked for our benefit. We were not meant to cooperate with them. We do not mess with them; they don't mess with us, that's how it has been for more than thousand years." For a moment Joshua looked scared, weighed down by the responsibility he was trying to shoulder. "I wish God was here. What do we do now?"

Sam's courage sank; if Joshua was out of plans, then they were in trouble. Sam'd liked the dazed, giddy state he'd been in before they'd known about Gabriel's atrocities. Now his sacrifice wasn't necessary? The universe was doomed, no matter what they did? "The loom has been destroyed?" he asked. "The one we needed to bind Gabriel to me?" he demanded.

"The one and only."

"And there isn't any other way to rein him in?"

"Didn't think you were that eager to marry the little shit," Dean said, snippy.

"I have agreed to _bond_ with him. To help him find his soul and save the universe. That's not the same," Sam retorted, conveniently shoving the condition about consummation into a dusty, forgotten corner of his mind.

"Aha." Dean's eyes strayed to Cas and he looked happy. "Could have fooled me. Can't say I'm looking forward to having the Trickster in the family, though."

"He's my brother," Cas said. "No matter what he did, he's my brother."

Dean said nothing. Sam decided that miracles _did_ happen occasionally. 

At the end, it was Dean who came up with the solution to their problem. He was the only one simple enough to think of something so obvious that it ended up making sense. He cut to the bone; Occam's razor in the hands of someone who'd probably never heard of it. Of course it'd be Dean who cut away the crap.

"Okay, Cas, if you say so. Gabriel's family. We'll save him," Dean promised, showing again that his bond with Cas had a surprising impact. "So let's go make another loom. How hard can it be? And you-" Dean pointed at Joshua, "better get us three girls who won't mind helping us with some cross stitching or knitting or what the fuck it is we need to do. Or guys, I'm not biased. Three giraffes, for that matter, as long as they are able to handle a loom and a weapon. Whatever. Oh, and we need some yarn. Lots of it, since we're going to make a net to catch a rogue demi-god. Or a weave." Dean raised an eyebrow and grinned at Crowley. "Go do what you do so well, Crowley. Fetch, boy!"

It was possible that the universe's fate had been sealed and signed right there, had Crowley not showed remarkable restraint when it came to giving in to the urge to kill Dean Winchester dead on the spot.

As Crowley disappeared, Joshua sank down on a chair once more, all his calm power gone. "I didn't want to mention my concerns with Crowley present," Joshua said quickly, glancing at the door through which Crowley had left, fuming with anger. "I fear that the destruction of the loom might have been more dangerous to the balance than I let Crowley know. All this tearing and dragging between the realms... with Crowley's demons one one side and Gabriel's on the other... The powers we've released are so forceful that they might do what we feared and tear open the cage."

Dread trickled down Sam's spine, a cold, disgusting sensation. He'd known all the time that there was a risk the cage might not hold. "Lucifer's cage?"

Nodding, Joshua put his hands into his lap, staring at them for a long time. "Yes. And contrary to Michael's, Lucifer's vessel still fits him. Michael in his true form I can handle. What happens if Lucifer breaks free... We don't even know which underworld he'll turn to, Hell or Hel. Or what he'll do with an army of demons if he gets his hands on either of them. Or both. He's just as likely to use them as he is to kill them."

Dean's gaze met Sam's. He looked afraid too. "We have Cas. He can..." Dean looked at his angel. "Cas?"

"Lucifer has the powers of an archangel, still. I can try. I _will_ try."

Joshua looked up at Cas, his will to fight returning. It was clear from the way he straightened his back. "You must go, all of you, as soon as Crowley returns. He'll take you through the World Tree to Valhalla. Inias and I will gather the forces of Heaven and have them ready for you if you need them. We are weak, still, after the war, but if Lucifer doesn't reach his full strength immediately, we might have a chance. We need to strike instantly. If Lucifer breaks free and takes control of one or both demon armies, I fear we have lost."

"No wonder we have Crowley rolling over for us," Dean said. Somehow his hand had found Cas's. "Doesn't want to lose to Lucy a second time. He's fond of his kingdom, Crowley. As for us, better the devil you know..."

Unfortunately Sam had used far too much time with Lucifer to prefer the devil he knew. To be honest, if there was anything he could do to tie himself to Gabriel now that the loom was gone, Sam would do it without a second thought. Anything to avoid being taken as Lucifer's vessel again. He'd embrace Gabriel, soul or no soul. A soul could be found and rebuilt; if nothing else, then Cas's return had proved that fact. If Dean could have an angel puzzle, then Sam would, come hell or high water, get his own and put it together nicely. So what if a few pieces were missing as long as they could keep Lucifer at bay. If the universe burned, Sam would burn with it as a free man, not as the vessel for a creature he hated and feared more than death itself. He would never be Lucifer's bitch again.

He would rather die.

 

Crowley returned a little later with a gigantic skein of yarn. "Ten miles of it," he said, brushing some lint off of his otherwise so impeccable black coat. "Handspun."

"Where did you get that?" Sam eyed Crowley suspiciously. Nobody could spin ten miles of yarn in half an hour.

"Stole it from a shop in Placerville, California. Some yarn museum, I think. World's biggest skein of handspun yarn." Crowley huffed. "What? Don't look at me like that; it's for the benefit of the universe. And I am the King of Hell. I'm supposed to do evil deeds."

"You mean, like saving the universe from destruction?" Sam laughed. It was impossible to stay angry at Crowley for long.

"It's called survival, idiot." Crowley's mood wasn't exactly good. "Take your brother and the angel and let's get going." Crowley paused, pursing his mouth. "I recall that you at some point filched a hammer when we... attended an auction together. Do you still have it?"

Sam frowned. Oh. He had sort of forgotten about it. "It's in the trunk."

"As your brother so politely expressed it, _fetch, boy_! It might come in handy. And you have no idea, as usual, what you've got your hands on, do you?"

Sam couldn't say that he had. It was a weapon like all other weapons. A tool. "And you do?" he snapped, impatient, tired of the mess they were in. He wasn't truly fond of hunting, but it was in his blood. Now that had Dean returned to the living together with Cas, this, their final hunt, was almost alluring. It would be the hunt of his life and he needed it to begin. He was tired of sitting in a motel room with a bunch of angels; he needed to act. In that regard he agreed with Crowley. They needed to buckle up and get on with the program. Preferably before Lucifer got a similar idea.

Sam got up and strode out the door. He had an archangel to find before it was too late.

The hammer lay where he'd put it after the fight they'd had at the auction house. He had had no occasion to use it. He raised it, admiring the polished metal and the beautiful pattern on the sides of the hammerhead. It was good craftsmanship, no doubt about that. The hammer was old and the metal had strange etchings decorating it. Old. Norse. Sam's usually so brilliant and logical brain decided it was time to function properly. Suddenly two and two made four.

" _Thor's_ hammer? Fuck! How could I even pick it up? Only Thor can..."

Sam felt like an idiot. They were in possession of a legendary and invincible weapon and he'd just put it in the trunk and forgotten about it. Sam rummaged around in the car, considering other possibilities. They had the demon knife, the hammer and the Colt. What more did they need, apart from a bigger army and something that could kill Lucifer? Sam picked a few choice weapons before he shut the trunk with a loud click.

When he returned to the motel room, somebody had turned on the TV.. The volcanoes had stopped their sudden activity, but the problem wasn't over. Minor earthquakes had shaken the seas and the quakes were becoming increasingly stronger.

Glancing at the TV, Sam wondered what was going on. Cas and Dean were not doing anything funny and Sam didn't think that it mattered much that Cas's hand was resting on top of Deans, halfway hidden under the table. Curious, Sam asked Joshua, "Related to our case, the earthquakes?" Both Joshua and Crowley looked worried. "What is it?" Sam asked, knowing from the silence that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"We have a situation. The cage," Joshua said, avoiding looking at the TV. "It's breaking."

Sam paled visibly, feeling the blood leave his face. He felt nauseous. It was happening and far too soon.

"Good to know that Heaven is in control," Crowley sneered. The cage was Crowley's domain and it was Crowley's demons who would be on the line of fire if—when—Lucifer got out. Maybe they would be the only bulwark between Lucifer and Sam. They wouldn't hold long.

Sam didn't sit. He didn't ask for advice. He didn't _care_. "We are leaving _now_ ," he ordered, leaving no doubt that he meant what he said. "Gather what you need. Cas, you have your sword?" Sam threw the Colt to Dean. "We know it can take him down for a few seconds. It might be the only chance we have to escape when everything goes wrong."

Dean nodded, surprisingly not arguing. He knew _serious_ when he saw it. "If he's out, then what?"

"Then pray to anyone you can think of that we find Gabriel before it's too late," Sam said, knowing that they might have very little time left. "And then pray that Gabriel doesn't refuse to side with us against Lucifer if it comes to that."

Waving at Inias, Joshua said, "We'll hold the line in Heaven as long as possible. It might be the last place in the universe to go down. I'll send you what soldiers I can, Sam Winchester. Inias will find you help for the loom." Stroking one of the ravens, Joshua didn't flinch as the big bird jumped onto his shoulder. "We need a raven to escort our people through the realms—we have little power there, in the World Tree," Joshua explained. "Huginn will travel with us and return immediately with the norns-to-be."

"We'll take Muninn," Crowley said, "or he'll take us. We'll be at Ash Yggdrasil. Better hurry to find us help. Tick-tock. Before we have to deal with two fallen angels at the same time."

"Let's go," Sam said. "If there are goodbyes to be said..."

It was short and without tears. Cas embraced his brothers, Crowley nodded, oddly respectful, to Joshua who returned the nod. Joshua merely put a hand on Sam's shoulder, then patting Dean gently on the hand. "Good luck."

They were going to need it. They had little else to stand against Lucifer. Nothing but luck and Gabriel.

Basically, they didn't stand a chance.

_With his arms around his lover, Gabriel pulled him closer, his nose buried in the shaggy, brown hair. Sam smelled wonderful, he smelled of clean skin and fresh sweat and a bit of oil and gunpowder. Sam's skin was so soft, like silk over steel. The hard muscles flexed under Gabriel's searching hands, and he could feel himself harden against Sam's thigh, his cock awakening once more. God, Winchester was gorgeous_. 

"Sammy?" Gabriel's voice was low and sultry, but loud enough to wake him up by the sound of it. Could have been the erection rubbing against the sheets in his empty bed, too. Or the fact that Gabriel's back itched like nothing else. Except perhaps his cock. It itched to be buried inside-

Groaning, Gabriel sat up, the furs pooling around his waist. "What the fuck?" He reached behind himself, trying to reach the left shoulder blade, rubbing it. It wasn't enough and he scratched harder as he let out a low moan at the sensation. The right blade got the same treatment. Satisfied, Gabriel rolled his shoulders, postponing the moment where he had to face the dream he'd had. The very hot, very lifelike, erotic dream. 

Sam Winchester? Gabriel couldn't decide exactly how he felt about the younger Winchester showing up in his dreams. Okay, to be honest he felt soulless, relieved of the annoyance of feelings. He felt perfectly clear, unusually sensible. He felt logical. And now this? The dream was disturbing the lovely peace that he'd lived in since he returned, the kind of quiet peace that one found on the inside of an iceberg; on the bottom of the ocean: cold and clear and beautiful. The strange dream had reminded him of fire, of roaring flames and of passionate heat and he knew he shouldn't like it one bit.

Only he did. It was as if there was a part of him, a tiny speck somewhere in the soul he didn't have, in the grace he had lost, that whispered to him of passion and love and senseless, heated nights, embraced by a willing lover. It spoke to him of indulgence and madness and of _le petite mort_ , of mind-blowing pleasure.

And it spoke to him of longing and tenderness. It spoke to him as he woke up alone, wanting a warm, living, naked _human_ in his bed, right there next to him, long, slender legs wrapped around his waist, a warm body under him. A view to slanted, sparkling forest eyes. With the part of his mind that was soaked in logic he knew that it was useless to deny that he _longed_.

If Gabriel analyzed the sensations and the way his heart beat, he'd say he was in trouble. He hadn't felt so... wanting in a long time. Mostly because he'd been dead and then he'd been soulless and it was glorious, seeing that he'd never have to be bothered with feelings again, or so he'd thought.

Wondering what had changed, Gabriel couldn't point out a single action or event—which disturbed him even more. He went through every scrap of information he had. It was quite obvious that he'd chosen demons for his guard who were all tall and muscular and handsome and had dimples or almond-eyes or long, brown hair. Or all of it. It had been a mistake to take Mandsbane to bed, but he'd done it anyway, attracted to the demon's human form. Stupid. Lack of judgment. Bad leadership. Gabriel huffed annoyed at the thought. He recalled that he'd once been a soppy idiot, far too often feeling sorry for humans, or worse: being merciful to them, even in his disguise as the Trickster. He suspected that it was his angel side. Thank Odin that he got rid of that. And still he thought about these useless ideas of guilt and mercy and love. Stupid. Foolish.

Fantastic.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't... he couldn't feel. Didn't want to. It made him act like an idiot. He'd released Mandsbane, hadn't he? Idiotic. He'd let him back in as his second in command? Idiotic, too. He'd stopped the execution on a whim: the memory of Sam, the one he didn't want to think about because his groin still ached from the dream. His mind was somehow caught in it still, teasing him with pictures he didn't want to see. He was teased with the memory of a scent he surely couldn't smell; the scent that was Sam Winchester's and nobody else's. It was frankly disconcerting and Gabriel didn't do disconcerting. He did 'cool', he did 'in charge' and he did 'controlled'. He most certainly didn't do 'disconcerting'.

Scratching his back again, his arm turned around awkwardly to reach the spot, Gabriel groaned. It made him forget how much he wanted to still that _other_ itch, the one that came with unbidden desires and heat pooling in his stomach and between his legs.

Gabriel reminded himself that he had a war to fight. Feelings and needs only got him killed. He'd been there, done that, ditched the t-shirt because it was utterly distasteful to wear something that said, _Insert angel sword here!_ on the front and _Screw me over, Lucy?_ on the back. Of course he could have kept it simple and let it say _Loser!_ and that would have been just as bad. So rather no t-shirt, no soul. He liked the way his demon army fit. It suited him much better than a crappy t-shirt. He pushed the thought of tall, handsome men with sparkling eyes to the back of his mind. He could not afford such foolishness. Feelings made him weak. Feelings meant being vulnerable. Feelings made him think that family mattered. It was better to be what he had become. It was his choice. No entanglement. No connections.

He called his page. He could dress himself in a second, but it was such a pleasure to have demons put in their place as his servants. Just because he was going to take over Valhalla today there was no excuse for not bathing properly and dressing for the occasion: helmet, cloak and that boiled leather chestplate he liked so much. Gabriel sent his sword a loving look. It hung sharp and shiny on a peg of one of the tent's poles.

The demons were ready when he finally stepped outside, ready to start Ragnarok. Gabriel's mouth was turned upwards in an arrogant smile. He was above the creatures he had pulled away from Hel and from their queen, his daughter. He decided to dispose of the demons when he was done with them, a few exceptions. They would probably perish during Ragnarok anyway. He'd need officers later, to make certain that Valhalla's heroic einherjar were discouraged when it came to rebelling against Gabriel's rule; a few of the strongest demons in the right places would see to that. The einherjar weren't exactly thinkers and could probably be kept in line by a five year old with a stick. But Gabriel didn't want to take any chances before he was seated comfortably on Odin's throne.

The army was quiet, an eerie silence had spread as if the entire realm was holding its breath for what was to come. The snow was falling; large flakes were floating in the air, covering the ground, as if the realm's death was imminent, only waiting for the body to be shrouded in white.

Bloðörn was holding Gabriel's horse. The chestnut was nervous, the animal's nostrils moved as if it had difficulties breathing. The horse looked at Gabriel, the dark eyes scared. He had ridden it hard, but he'd never mistreated it so he knew it wasn't scared of him. He watched the stallion as it moved, jittery and restless, a hoof kicking hard into the frozen ground. Gabriel looked at the sky, trying to determine what had scared his horse. He took a step, putting a hand on its neck. It was wet from sweat already.

"Who did this?" he demanded. "The animal is scared."

"My Lord." Bloðörn had learned from Mandsbane's mistakes and bowed, respectful. "It has behaved strangely since dawn. The other horses too. We do not know why. Maybe they sense that the war is coming."

Gabriel stroked the horse's warm neck. " _Eldjárn_ , is it?" Gabriel asked, knowing the horse couldn't answer. Although Eldjárn probably was one of his son's children, it was merely an animal. Trying to remember how to soothe anxiety in a horse, Gabriel rummaged around in the corners of his mind, realizing that he actually didn't remember. He was surprised that it felt like loss, that the memory was lost somewhere. He tried again, searching for a moment where he'd comforted someone or been comforted. Nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut, regret welling up inside him, again disturbing the cold peace he'd felt since he declared war against his blood brother. He _wanted_ to know. He wanted the feeling back, wanting badly to ease the scared expression of the horse. He looked at the spooked Eldjárn again. It was fire-red, nervous, filled with instinct and need, yet still powerful. Beautiful. Ironic that the horse's name meant _poker_ , for it was burning. It made the dead embers, the dead passion inside Gabriel flare for a moment. "I'm sorry," he told the horse. "I don't know how." The regret he felt was foreign, although he knew he'd felt regret before. He turned away, only to face Bloðörn.

"Are you well, my Lord?" There was this calculating look in Bloðörn's eyes; as if he was able to look through Gabriel's defenses, detect his sudden longing for his old ways. Bloðörn was too close, too knowing, too much of a liability. It was as if he'd seen the moment of weakness in Gabriel, only waiting for the right moment to take advantage.

"Well? Yes, I am now," Gabriel said and thrust his dagger into Bloðörn's chest. He had nothing to prove, he had no one to answer to, least of all a dirty demon, walking the earth in a borrowed meatsuit from God knew which cowardly and very dead Norseman. Gabriel pulled the dagger upwards and out, letting the body drop. He wrinkled his nose. They were weak, his daughter's demons, for the demon left the meatsuit it had been wearing, merely a wisp of dark smoke. Of course that was what one got when one collected the traitors and cowards; weaknesses. Gabriel couldn't remember why it felt so good to dispose of the demon, he just knew that it was _right_ to do so. Again rattled and confused, Gabriel held out a hand to his young demon page. "Towel." He wiped his hands free of demon blood and turned to his horse again. Killing a demon in front of it hadn't exactly helped calming the animal. If he wanted to ride, Gabriel suddenly realized that he had to regain this wonderful state where he cared about nothing but himself as not to let his mood affect his steed.

Only it felt as if his grip on the world was slipping through his fingers, his mind fighting him from inside and it became increasingly harder to find the cold, clear winter inside his brain.

Once more he stepped up to his horse, taking the reins from the page. He swallowed; a lump had suddenly emerged in his throat. He _needed_ Eldjárn to calm down, that was the sensible approach. All logic. He could _pretend_ to care, if only he could remember the motions. Ignoring his surroundings, Gabriel tried again, wanting to hang on to the _don't give a crap_ attitude, but he had to shove it aside. Just for a second, that would be enough. A few moments of sentimentality and reminiscence.

Then a memory surged forward, the images so vivid and overwhelming that he could just as well have been standing there, in the motel's dining room, two scared boys at his feet, Lucifer smeared with blood. And he knew! He knew how to do it, how important it had been to him to protect and defend. He remembered how much he had loved humans. He remembered how weak he'd been and how strong it had made him. He remembered how alone he had felt, and still he stood there, sword in hand, defending those who needed him, humanity somehow personified by those damned Winchester kids. He remembered Dean's righteous anger, and most of all he remembered _Sam_. The scared eyes, the proud defiance in the face of danger.

A feeling of nausea overwhelmed Gabriel and he fell to his knees, heaving dryly, unable to throw up. It was as if the universe was tilting, skewed and distorted, his purpose changing. He tried to close down the memory, but it hung on to him like a leech, black and slimy and draining. The power that had been thrumming inside his body seemed to vanish with each spluttering gasp, leaving him empty and suffering.

 

_I'm not on your side or on Michael's. I'm on theirs._

 

"Oh, God!" Gabriel groaned, the pain of what he'd done washing over him. The pain of what he _hadn't done_. It was like a broken dam: a small trickle at first, then more water, more thoughts, more memories. He'd have to kill himself again if he were to be free of the flood. His knees were cold, melting snow pooling coolly around them, soaking his clothes. _I'm on theirs_. And he had been, on the side of people. On the side of those two stupid, idiotic, hopeless, annoying, infuriating children who had somehow become Gabriel's poster boys for humanity. He wanted rid of them, rid of every memory he had of them. They'd get him killed again, or he'd kill them and everything would go pear-shaped and he couldn't... He couldn't face their disappointment in him, their arrogant righteousness. The loss and the guilt he'd feel if he didn't save them.

Slapping a hand in front of his mouth, as if it would help keeping down the nauseating helplessness, Gabriel let out a muffled cry, fighting to get up as the memories continued to flood into his conscious mind. Sam's pain. Sam's anger. Dean's constant challenges. The way Dean had looked at Castiel, his stupid, foolish little brother who had been in love with Dean Winchester from the moment he laid eyes and hand on him. Oh, God! More memories. Sam's prissy mouth and the anger when Gabriel had teased him. Sam's lips. God, that mouth. Sam's tall shape, his smile, always directed at somebody else... the dimples-

"No. _No_!" Gabriel fought to stand, fought to find his way into the calmness of his soulless self. He reached for the power he had taken, and even though he found it weak, he hung on to it, using it to shove into the leak, stopping the memories from coming. On shaky legs he forced himself to breathe slowly, knowing it would help his horse to calm down as well. He rubbed Eldjárn's shoulder, perhaps to help himself relax. The skin was soft and warm. Gabriel murmured something, nonsense, in a dark, slow voice, stroking the horse's neck firmly.

He had a war to fight, realms to conquer. He _wanted_ Ragnarok to tear into the universe, purging the lands of-

Suddenly he couldn't remember exactly why he was doing this. He clung to the horse, an island in the sea of flashing images and confusion. Slowly he swung himself into the saddle, a sign for his officers to do the same. He took in a mouthful of air, his breath hanging like small white clouds in the icy air. His army was quiet as they watched him, thousands of demon eyes, ice-colored, turned his way. His officers mounted. They were ready. War was coming and the universe would change.

Then, without warning, the earth rippled, a deep, painful stretch of rock and dirt and wood. A rift opened, a void of darkness, splitting the army in two, hundred of demons tilting screaming into the empty space of the rift. As fast as it had opened, the ground swallowed and closed the gap, turning its insides out. Silence. Gabriel could barely hold Eldjárn back. "Whoa. Whoa. What the hell?"

Mandsbane pulled his horse around, close to Gabriel. "My Lord?"

Gabriel didn't know what to say. He could only watch the sudden destruction and the impact, demons and horses trampling each other, blood and bodies anointing the virgin soil. "Enough," he sneered. "Mandsbane, get the ranks in order. Kill those who try to flee."

The sky darkened as if something was burning. The earth moved again, turning into a sea of mud. Gabriel let Eldjárn free, letting him go where he wanted, trusting the horse to get him into safety when demons were swallowed by the waves of brown, slimy, dirt. Mandsbane was right behind him. The stopped on a small hill, turning their horses to watch the destruction.

"What is it?" Mandsbane asked. "My Lord, what is happening?"

"My daughter? I-" Gabriel didn't know how to explain the inexplicable. "The realm is breaking into pieces."

Mandsbane looked to the sky. The sun had turned into a pale shadow of itself behind the fumes and ashes. "Birds." The demon officer pointed east. "Huge birds."

Oh. Gabriel knew them. "You've gotta be kidding," he sneered. "Fucking rubber ducks."

"My apologies, my Lord?" Mandsbane said. "I don't understand."

"Don't bother," Gabriel said, wishing he'd had a part of him that was still an angel. He could have soared into the sky, free in time and space, and he could have prevented this, the destruction of his proud army of cowards. He laughed bitterly.

The birds came closer, circling them. "Fine," Gabriel shouted. "Get over here, you ugly soon-to-be pillows. I'll talk with you."

The ravens swept down, dangerously close, all claws and beaks and wings. "Beware," Huginn cried, its eyes filled with hatred. "Beware, Loki Laufeyson, for your brother is coming for you!"

Muninn, too, made a mock attack, one that made Gabriel duck. "Beware, Gabriel, angel of the Lord," it croaked. "for the cage is empty and the World Tree is ripe with your enemies."

"The cage," Gabriel shouted back, a feeling of ice-cold fear settle in his heart. "The cage... Lucifer's cage?"

The ravens cackled and screamed, swept down on them once more and disappeared.

The cage. No. There was no way Lucifer had been set free. And who'd have-

Oh.

Gabriel turned to Mandsbane, a command ready on his lips. Starting Ragnarok and taking over the world had suddenly become a battle of more than Odin's throne.

Mandsbane's eyes glittered like ice in cold hatred. His hand was clenching his sword so hard that the metal creaked. " _Angel_ of the Lord?" Mandsbane's eyes slid down Gabriel's body and back to his face. "The _archangel_ Gabriel? The angel Lucifer killed?" His lips split into an evil, cruel smile. "Now, this is going to be interesting, _my Lord_." Mandsbane was almost purring with gleeful pleasure. "My brothers and I... Maybe we'll let you choose. Hél or Lucifer. When we're done torturing you."

 

**8\. Over the Rainbow**

They left the motel, loaded with weapons and anxiety. Sam was feeling sick by the mere thought of Lucifer's presence, even more so by the fact that Lucifer would come for him right away, seeking out the vessel that had been taken from him. The torture Sam had gone through in that hole... It was not going to happen again. He was desperate. Anything would be better; he'd even take forty years in Hell to more time, any time, with the Devil, cage or no cage. If it had been only his own life at stake, he'd have taken the apocalypse any time, but now the universe would be lost. They _had_ to save people. The Earth. Everything and everyone, and no price was too high for that.

Sam shut the door behind him, the old wood creaking. It felt as if he'd shut a door to a part of his life as well, only he wasn't sure which one. He was leaving to enter into another realm. He was leaving to willingly enter a bond that might save the universe; a bond that might save _him_. Might. In the worst case scenario that Sam had playing in his mind, he was stuck for eternity with a soulless god who had little qualms torturing and killing. The prospect wasn't particularly alluring. Best case scenario? Sam didn't dare go there, not really, but, God, he was a sucker for Gabriel's wicked charm and the sparkle in his eyes. He'd forgiven—no, actually, he hadn't, but he could. He could forgive Gabriel for what he'd done to them. Maybe.

Muninn fluttered into the tree right outside the motel, chattering loudly in a language that Sam didn't understand. "Wait, Crowley! What do we do now? How are we going to-"

"Seeing that you and your brother have been dragged through Hell and Heaven as well as a few other places in time and space, you are actually asking?" Crowley rolled his eyes and looked very much like an impatient parent. "We need somewhere to anchor the thread of fate, and then Muninn is going to lead us through. He's Odin's memory, he knows where to go."

"Anchor? Why?"

"Would you believe me if I say it's a hunch?" Crowley poked at the skein with his foot. "Our realms are tied so closely together currently that it feels right to let the weave start here."

"Experienced weaver, are you," Dean taunted. "Knew you'd be a sweet little wifey."

"Well, there was that one time in Hell when we decided to create a rug out of intestines and-"

"Crowley!" Sam made a gagging sound. "Let's get on with it, shall we."

"I was merely pointing out that I have experience with looms," Crowley said, making an offended snort. "But if Dean knows better, I'll leave the weaving to him."

"Fine. You know best," Dean said. "So what do we do with the thread?"

Crowley made a very unpleasant smile. "Let's tie it to your car, Dean."

It took a bit of persuasion and an angry argument between Cas and Dean to get Dean to wrap the end of the thread around the fender. It didn't exactly sit well with him that his beloved baby was going to be involved, as if she somehow would survive the pending collapse of the known universe.

They'd parked the Impala next to the scorched tree on the parking lot. Crowley insisted that the tree would work perfectly fine as a passage to Asgard.

"Anything happens to her, and the apocalypse is the least of your problems," Dean said, his voice very low and very cold. He fingered the demon knife lovingly while staring pointedly at Crowley.

"She'll be fine, Dean," Sam said, letting the lie slip out almost too easily. "Crowley?"

" _Jesus_!" Crowley pulled out a piece of chalk from a pocket and drew a few signs on the roof of the car. "Right. She'll be fine. As long as there's a universe, there's a car."

"If you've made as much as a scratch on her," Dean said, the glare he sent Crowley no less intimidating than the first. The let the threat hang in the air a second before he continued. "You've seen Karate Kid, yeah?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "In your dreams, Winchester. You can wax your own car. I'm not touching it."

Irritated and impatient, Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "Let's go. Now. Before I'm turned into a sleeping bag for Satan. Crowley, would today suit you, or do you have other plans? A vacation to Bermuda or something else that is more important than saving people?"

"Of course. Can hardly breathe from all the excitement," Crowley snorted. "I am so looking forward to traveling with the three of you."

Perching on a branch, Muninn the raven made a screeching sound. The bird sounded as impatient as Sam felt.

"Yes, yes, stupid bird," Crowley said and put one hand on the tree, the other on the thread. "Boys, please. And you." He looked at Cas as if he was something the cat had dragged in, or in this case, out. "Hold on to the thread and then touch the tree. You may want to close your eyes, for this is the express line. Going to be a bit on the windy site for a bit."

They gathered around the blackened tree. Cas slipped an arm around Dean protectively before he wrapped the thread around his hand. Dean opened his mouth to bitch over it, then closed it again. Sam nodded. "Ready."

Crowley murmured something on an ancient language that sounded very foreign. Sam thought it might be Old Norse. Above them, the raven took off, circled and flew directly into the trunk of the tree, dissolving into nothing. There was a loud creak and Sam was pulled off his feet, dragged into something that felt like a tornado, just faster, colder and much, much scarier. He didn't know how long he flew or fell and the only constant was the feeling of flax and wool in his palm. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think! Then darkness turned into light and as abruptly as it had started, the roller coaster stopped. Sam's butt hit the ground a bit too hard. He sat there, for a few seconds unable to do anything than sit as he relearned how to breathe. Then he opened his eyes and found himself sitting in the tall grass below a gigantic tree. The air was cold, wintery, but the tree was green. Next to him, Dean looked just as confused and short of breath. Cas stood, entirely unperturbed, next to him. Traveling through space and dimensions wasn't exactly news to Cas.

Sam looked around, staring at the gilded hall behind the huge tree. Its reflection made the lake shine both silver and golden. A few huge, white swans passed them by, looking at them with knowing eyes. The water smelled of flowers, rich and sugary. Okay, so they were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

"How long are you going to sit there, Dorothy?" Crowley purred. "We have work to do. Get up!"

"Get out of my brain, Crowley! Man, that trip was uncomfortable. And quick." Sam shook his head as if to clear it. "Who needs a sports car when you can have this?"

"You can have a car when you become an adult," Crowley teased. "For now, gather some wood. Long, straight branches. Don't break off anything. Yggdrasil won't like it. There's enough wood on the ground."

"How many?" Dean put his hands in his jeans, not exactly looking like someone willing to work. "Where do you want them?"

"Here. If you gather some, I'll try to assemble a frame for the loom. Sam should go find the remains of the old fabric. We need Loki's thread." Crowley pulled out a piece of paper from one of the deep pockets in his coat. He unfolded it. Sam glanced at it. It was a drawing of a loom, an ancient type. It was safe to say it wasn't last year's model.

"We're going to save the world with that?"

"It's what the old one looked like according to Odin," Crowley said. "We're not fixing what isn't broken." He laughed bitterly. "We are. Fixing. We need to make a replica." Sam could almost hear the unspoken words, the possibility they had to consider, grim and cruel and real: _We still don't know if it works. If not... we're doomed. All of us_

They worked in silence, knowing that time mattered. Dean didn't bitch and Crowley had cut down on sarcasm considerably, limiting himself to small appraising comments. The loom was a simple piece of engineering, if that was the right word, for to Sam it was little more than branches tied together with pieces of rope. Crowley hadn't lied when he said he knew what he was doing. Sam almost laughed at the idea; having 'ability to produce rugs from intestines' on the CV wasn't exactly something you saw every day. But it worked for them now, and Sam really couldn't care less how Crowley had learned as long as the demon's former hobby made them able to fight a war.

Two uprights were leaning against the World Tree. Crowley was working, setting up the warp and heddles, placing a beam on the top for the finished cloth. Castiel was collecting small stones to weigh down the weft. The large skein of yarn shrank quickly.

Sam was sweating despite the chilly fall weather and he took a few minutes, kneeling at the lake, cupping his hands together to scoop up water. He sat there, staring at nothing for a bit.

"Sammy?" Dean's hand brushed across Sam's shoulder, a brief caress that said more than any words.

"Yeah." Sam looked up.

"All right there, bro?" Dean smiled, looking more relaxed than he'd done for ages. He looked happy.

"You're look-"

"I am." Funny how words sometimes were unnecessary. "Should have admitted it, you know... before."

"You're in love with him?"

"Have your chick moment." Dean swatted Sam, a bit too hard, on the shoulder. "Didn't think it would be like that. Yes. It's forever."

"And forever is, what, a day or two?"

"You know what, Sam? I have this gorgeous new boyfriend, and if I don't get to have at least a few thousand years with him in Heaven, I'm going to blame you!"

"You really are embracing the gay." Sam laughed. "At least one of us will have a happy marriage if we survive. Ironic that-"

"Sam, it's _Cas_. No apple-pie-life in that. He just... fits." Dean fidgeted a bit, unusually subdued. "Lisa... she told me once that I scared her a little bit. I still remember the look in her eyes... Cas? He'd never be afraid of me. He'd never look at me like she did." Dean sighed, a satisfied smile suddenly grazing his lips. "You know... Gabriel. I want for you to have-"

"Enough with the girl-talk!" Sam stood. "And I totally refuse to acknowledge that I just said that." What Dean had said stuck. Maybe that was what they'd become. Maybe that was what they had always been, natural born killers. Cas and Gabriel were in that regard not the worst choices for their not-so-apple-pie-normal lives. It was their only choice.

"Don't want to talk about Gabriel, is that it?" Dean smirked. "Come on, Sam. If we manage to slam that soul back in Gabe, and a bit of grace, it could be worse."

"Could be Lucifer, yeah. I'm aware." Sam let out a groan. "Dean... I can't. Not... Lucifer. Gabriel... he's one of the few beings strong enough to even think of standing against the Devil. I couldn't say no, not if there's a chance that we can save Gabriel and kick Lucifer back in the cage." Sam could feel cold fear well over him. He couldn't do this. He wasn't strong enough. Weighed down by the responsibility of saving the universe, Sam was tired, so tired. "Joshua should have chosen you. I can't save everyone."

Dean sensed it. "You can. You're out here, Lucy is still in the hole. We have time. You are not alone, Sam. And look at it like this: Gabriel is a sick fuck, but he's got a great ass. There's a reward for you, Samantha. All yours, firm and perky and hot! Millenniums of experience, you can't overestimate that. But you are _so_ not going to let _him_ take you up the-"

"Shut _up_! God, I hate you!" Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing, seeing who, exactly, had taken it up the ass this morning. "That was possibly the most appalling thing you could say. Ever."

"Good. So, what are we waiting for, Sam? Up and at 'em, yeah? Let's go tie you to an archangel and his perky butt."

Dean was right. Gabriel _did_ have a perky little ass. Small favors.

 

They walked back to Crowley in comfortable silence, as if everything that needed to be said had been said. Unable to get rid of the notion that Dean had tried to gauge Sam's interest in Gabriel, Sam hoped that he'd made it clear that he didn't see the bond with Gabriel as a catastrophe, providing they managed to help him get his soul back. Hard pressed, Sam would admit that he found the thought interesting. Gabriel had always been a challenge. Being with him, angel, demi-god or human, would surely never be boring. Again, small favors.

The loom was finished. Cas and Crowley were sitting under the tree, looking up into the pattern of light and darkness of the leaves. They both looked calm and Crowley had stopped sending Cas evil eyes. Definitely improvement.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Sam. "We don't have time."

"Joshua," Crowley said. "The three giraffes he promised you."

"He promised me giraffes?" Now Crowley had lost it. Maybe the strain was too much for him? Oh. "The norns, you mean? Why is it that Odin couldn't provide? He's got a realm full of Valkyries... Valkyria... Warriors. Whatever."

"Not the crafty types. Joshua had a plan."

"Any idea when I'm going to be let in on it," Sam snapped. "It's my ass."

"Gabriel's ass," Dean corrected. "But have it your way if you like it better on the bottom."

"Not funny, Dean." Great that others found their situation amusing. "The norns, dammit?" Sam pushed his hands into his coat. He'd strangle Crowley otherwise.

"Past, present and future." Crowley pointed at Cas. "He's going to be the future, what with eternal life and all that. Also, he's newborn. Me, I'm the present. Something to do with embracing the pleasures of life. Also, I'm the only one who knows how to use the loom, so there."

"Er- what. Now you're a norn?" Staring at the angel and the demon, Sam tried to wrap his mind around the picture. "I thought the norns were goddesses. Weren't you going to fight?" Without Cas and Crowley to have their backs, fighting Gabriel or Lucifer or both would be risky business, to say it mildly. "So that's our plan? We stay here, one norn missing, and let Gabriel find us. No army, no... " Sam threw his hands in the air. "I could stab myself in the heart, you know. Wouldn't want to waste anyone's time."

The World Tree rustled, a few leaves falling, disturbing Sam's rant. Huginn and Muninn came sweeping down, chattering loudly to Crowley.

"Ah!" Crowley looked pleased. "Step aside, boys, angel." He held out a hand to Cas, pulling him up. "Guests-"

"Guests? This realm belongs to me, Crowley; you have no power here but the power I allow you!" Odin emerged from the tree; whether he'd been in it or somewhere else, Sam had no idea. "So you brought the humans?" Odin looked down his nose at Cas. "And that? A brother of the one they call Gabriel?"

"Yes. Although there is no Gabriel left. Only Loki. All yours, Odin. We really didn't have to assist you. Local problem." Crowley was lying through his teeth. Unless he by 'local' meant 'the entire universe, everything in it and outside it, all time and all dimensions'. 

"I assure you that I will be grateful. Unusual circumstances. I made him my brother. I believed I could remake him."

"No," Crowley said. "You really didn't make him. What he did, Gabriel, was to make you believe that you did. He'd existed a long time before you, and if his fallen brother hadn't killed him, he'd have existed billions of years after you and yours were gone. You had no idea who you were dealing with, old man."

"You are right. And I will do what is needed to rectify my mistake. If I must die in battle and perish when Ragnarok begins, so be it. My son will rule after me. I will stand with you against the god I made and against the angel that your god banished from Heaven. It is written that I must be eaten by Fenrir and as he is tied to the Word Tree, I will stay here with you until the wolf appears and does what is foretold."

"God, this stupid bravado." Crowley made an arrogant huff. "Should have brought my Hellhound if you are so set on being swallowed by a canine. Faster, less messy."

With cold eyes Odin stared at Crowley for a while. "For a demon outside his-"

"I am a king, Odin. Your equal."

"You are no such thing, vile creature."

Without thinking, Sam stepped between the lord of Valhalla and the king of Hell. "Excuse me. Maybe you can micro-manage the seating arrangements at a later point? When we're done fighting _others_!" Sam stepped closer to Odin. He didn't owe the god anything, on the contrary; Odin had been happy to see Sam and Dean killed. "Good. So. If you've nothing sensible to do, shut up, the both of you, and sit down!"

It wasn't that easy to offend Odin. He let out a deep laughter, slapping Sam on the shoulder. "You'll come and sit with me at my table, boy, for you are brave. I like you!" Odin nodded. "You are right. I have come here early for a reason. Thor and Týr are defending Valhalla in my place. I must die, I know this, but before I am swallowed by Fenrir, I have a quest to make. The goddess Idun has discovered a leak. Somebody is draining us, drinking up our power. I have come to put a stop to it before the battle."

"Power?" Sam cocked his head, looking down at the god. "How-"

"Idun's apples. They keep us young, but the do not grow. The summer. It is over and snow is covering parts of Asgard. We are dying, Sam Winchester, and it leaves us little force to go into battle with such powerful a foe as your Gabriel."

"He's not _my_ Gabriel," Sam argued.

"Isn't he?" Odin said calmly as if he knew something that Sam didn't. Odin turned promptly and walked away, his heavy spear thumping against the ground as he disappeared into the Ash Yggdrasil once more.

"What did he mean by that?" Sam asked no one in particular. He frowned, watching the spot where Odin had vanished. "What the fuck?" The meadow of Ash Yggdrasil certainly was a strange place.

"Oi! Some help here?" Someone was shouting from the top of the tree, so far up that Sam couldn't see the person. The voice sounded familiar. "Sam!"

"Jo?" Sam's eyes widened. "Jo, is that you?" The surprises just kept on coming. "Not to be callous or anything, but what are you doing in a tree in Asgard?" Sam shouted. "And hold on, Cas's here." Castiel was standing next to Sam already, the weakest flutter of wings announcing his arrival. "Do you mind?" Sam asked. "We have a lady in distress."

"I am going to kick your ass for that comment," Jo shouted back. "And my mum is going to help me! And she has a gun, Sammy-boy!"

Ellen? Ellen was here, too? Sam couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face. If he was going to die in the apocalypse or Ragnarok, there were few others he'd want at his side when the proverbial shit hit the fan. "Welcome to the party, girls! Didn't know you two did apocalypses on a regular basis."

Cas's wings fluttered and something with very gropy hands landed next to Sam. "You're inviting us. Looking forward to it." A firm hand landed on Sam's butt, pinching it very thoroughly. "Hey Sam."

"Pam! You look-"

"You can say it. Go on." Pam grinned broadly, her eyes squinting as she smiled. "Come on, delicious. A kiss upfront? Keeps me going until we can find somewhere more private." Pam turned as Dean hugged her from behind. "Unless Dean wants to watch."

Dean just laughed at her and smiled. He looked happy to see her.

"Dean does no longer prefer women," Cas said, his face solemn. "I was told that Joshua informed you of this progression?"

"Aw, he's jealous!" Pam pinched Cas's cheek. "If I may borrow him, you can come too."

"I do not prefer women, either," Cas growled. "I liked the pizza man. And Dean."

"And Meg," Sam and Dean said, exactly at the same time.

Sam groaned. "And could we stop this conversation, please. Before I feel the need to strangle myself."

"Meg was a mistake," Cas argued, ignoring Sam. "It wasn't me. I was- and-" He turned around and looked at Dean as if he was the world's most awesome thing. "I prefer Dean." He licked his lips. "I do not want other people to have sex with him. You cannot have sex with him, Pamela."

"Point taken, gorgeous." Pam winked. "So, where is that loom of yours? Joshua said you needed someone who knows how to play with crystal balls. And I get to tie Sam up!"

"Could you try not to sound so enthusiastic about it," Sam begged and hid his face in his hands. It was really same procedure as every time they dealt with Gabriel: he made the world go crazy and the not very normal life that Sam used to have suddenly looked remarkably quiet and boring in comparison. "Please, kill me, someone," he said and tried to get his shit together.

"Can we talk about that tomorrow," Ellen said, grinning. "I owe you one. If you still want it when we're done fighting. Now, where's your weapons? Let's go look at what we've got."

"Finally! A normal person," Sam managed. He had the notion that he looked very tired by now. He gave Ellen a hug. "It's so good to see you," he said and meant it. "They really dragged you out from Heaven to help us?" Sam was so glad that Ellen was here. She wasn't that motherly, but she was so like how their mother might have been, had she lived.

"It's more like we demanded it. Joshua said that both Hell and Heaven might go down in this and we like it where we are, Sam. Gonna fight for your right to party." Ellen smiled and put her hand around Sam's waist. She stopped abruptly, making Sam look up, ahead.

There was a woman standing in front of him and Sam couldn't decide whether she was very ugly or very beautiful. Maybe both.

"So," the woman said. "A party? I certainly hope it's not a private one, for I have brought entertainment." Her blood-smeared lips turned upwards in a cruel smile. She threw a long, serrated dagger in front of Sam's feet. "This is Famine, my knife," she said, "and I swear fealty to you, Sam Winchester, warlord of the angels, in exchange for revenge and for the return of that which belongs to me."

Not knowing what to say to a woman he didn't know, Sam merely looked at her. "And what might I have that belongs to you?" he asked. "I don't recall ever having seen you before, ma'am."

"You haven't. And all I want from you is your help. I have a quarrel with Loki, the one you call Gabriel the archangel." Her smile was beautiful in all its bloodstained cruelty. "I am Hél, and I want revenge. Will you help me, Warlord, to to take back the demons my father stole from me?"

 

**9\. An Angel at the End of Time**

The earth shook and the sky was crying brimstone. Gabriel rode as he'd never ridden before, Eldjárn fighting his way across the rippling ground and the mudslide. Gabriel could sense the horse's fear, doing nothing to ease his own. "Faster," he begged, hoping that Eldjárn knew that it was a matter of life and death. "Faster!" Gabriel was leaning forward, trying to be as small a burden as possible. He needed Eldjárn to get out of this. His powers weren't enough, he had no wings, no grace, nothing. He needed time to will himself away, out of danger. He couldn't stop. Either the demons or the earthquake would take him and he couldn't let it happen. He wanted to _live_! There was so much he hadn't done, so much he still wanted.

"Father, please," he breathed into Eldjárn's mane. "Please?"

Eldjárn seemed to understand the urgency. The horse jumped from one small hill to the next, somehow finding powers where none should have been. The wind whipped Gabriel's cloak and he ripped it off, not wanting it to slow them down. They reached firm ground and Gabriel braved a look over his shoulder at his pursuers. Still too close. Gabriel's heart beat wildly. He needed to get away. There were deeds he needed to undo, forgiveness that had to be obtained. It was as if the flight raced through his head, cleaning out his mind, filling it with emotions and passion. "Go!" he shouted, cheering the horse on. They both needed to survive, the brave little horse was fighting with him, giving all it had to get them into safety. They had nothing to lose, everything to win. Unarmed, stripped of his powers, alone in a universe that had rejected him, Gabriel had hit rock bottom and only the courage of a small fire-red horse had pulled him back to stand.

The sound of many hooves made Gabriel turn again, a brief look. Too close, the demons were far too close. Gabriel dropped to the far side, hanging on to Eldjárn's neck as Mandsbane's sword made a deadly arch through space where Gabriel's neck had been moments before. Eldjárn found strength somewhere deep inside and sped up, galloping almost preternaturally fast. Gabriel pulled out his sword. If he was caught he wouldn't go down without a fight. "Forgive me, Father," he prayed, knowing it would be enough. He wanted in again and he'd just shipped off his membership application. If he died, at least he wouldn't carry the guilt of what he'd done with him to the grave.

If there was anything left to bury.

The vast field evened out, and Eldjárn moved more evenly. Gabriel swung his sword at the nearest demon, its body falling before the head had hit the ground. It gave Gabriel a few seconds to think. He wiped his face, eyes damp from the speed and the wind. He looked up, as if his father would give him a way out.

The pale sun darkened, a flash of red lightning, then the sound of wings, huge wings on the firmament. Eldjárn screamed, a sound that Gabriel had never heard a horse make before. It was fear, fear so unfathomably deep and dark that Gabriel for a second thought his horse lost. Then Eldjárn ran, ran for his life, primordial fear giving him wings. He flew across the field, Gabriel hanging on, not trying to do anything but to hold on.

Another lightning flashed and the sky turned frost-white. The air froze so fast that the slush and the melting snow turned into ice. Huge white wings. Ice.

Lucifer.

Gabriel knew now that he wouldn't survive. This was it, the end. The demons didn't matter, for they, too, had stopped, staring anxiously up at the pale light. So, this was it. There was nothing left but to die. Gabriel used what little power he had to stop Eldjárn. He owed his brave horse this, to let it go unscathed from the battlefield. Gabriel held on to his sword.. He would die fighting; that he could do, at least before Lucifer resumed the apocalypse.

"How stupid I've been," Gabriel said, laughing in the face of danger. "How arrogant." He had never wanted Ragnarok, or the apocalypse. He patted Eldjárn on the neck. "Be safe, friend, if you are able." He prepared to dismount when a quick movement of a small lint in the air caught his attention. It moved in front of him, dancing in the cold sun. He followed it with his eyes.

And there it was, a road. A thin string of even surface, twisting and turning into the horizon. Where it went, Gabriel had no idea for he had never seen it before. The small piece of lint spun and grew, more fibers adding themselves to it rapidly. A thread. A thread guiding him from this godforsaken place to... It didn't matter. Gabriel could feel a pull and there was no way he couldn't go. It wasn't as if he had pressing appointments other than not dying. It was a chance. A tiny, incredible chance and they were going to take it.

"Run!" Gabriel leaned forward, spurring Eldjárn on, and in a last attempt, breathless and exhausted, the animal answered, once more giving all it had. Where it found the strength, Gabriel didn't know, but he shared with the horse what little he had, hoping it would be enough.

"We're ready." Cas looked at Pam with some distress, his discomfort at being groped keeping him at a distance. "Dean?" 

Dean pulled out the plastic bag with his thread of fate inside it. "You are sure you know what you're doing?"

"Putting your thread back in the fabric, making one for Sam that can tie him to Gabriel and mingle all three threads so you can have an even more unhealthy, entangled codependent relationship?" Crowley had run out of arrogance and he merely looked at Dean.

"Sounds about right to me," Sam said cooly. "And you're jealous." So what, if that was how it was? He loved Dean in a way that wasn't the most healthy and Dean loved him back. That was how it had always been. The words _family_ and _obsession_ somehow had the same meaning in Sam's head. "Let's get it over with. It isn't as if there is much that can't go wrong if the universe is gone by tomorrow anyway."

"Tell me it's going to work, Crowley," Dean said. "Please make it work." Dean clenched his fists, then unclenched, brushing a hand down Cas's arm. "Make it work."

"It's going to work." Crowley tied Dean's thread of fate to the weft, Cas tying a stone to a long piece of the yarn they'd stolen in Placerville. "You better get ready, boys." Crowley pulled from the old weave a very long thread. "I am still surprised that he had one. Going to tie them together now."

"Wait!" Sam needed time he didn't have. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know, Sam." For once Crowley wasn't snarky or arrogant. "All we know for sure is that it's a better fate than being tied to Lucifer."

There was that. Surrounded by friends willing to die for the survival of the universe, Sam had no choice but to go through with his promise and bind himself to Gabriel. This was his redemption. It gave the people he loved a chance. "Do it."

Sam watched as Crowley worked, the primitive shuttle sliding through the warp, pulling the three threads of fate through it. The fabric was uneven and rough, but it held. Nothing happened. It was quite the disappointment. Or maybe Sam was just in the habit of bad things happening, so used to it that it felt wrong when the sky didn't fall or the earth didn't move. He didn't feel different. "And I'm bound to Gabriel now, or? Feels a bit impotent to me if it's supposed to be a bond."

"Guys? Guys?" Jo was calling them from her post between the branches of the Ash Yggdrasil. "Someone is coming. A rider."

"What is this place?" Crowley growled. "It's worse than bloody Penn Station."

Ellen was standing with Hel, watching the empty field. "I am the only one who sees a thread running across here?"

Hél looked even more gloomy than she had before. Her visage was contracted in a mask of hatred. She stared at Sam, her eyes dark with anger. "You had use for our loom, I see. Your impertinence, Sam Winchester." She watched him under heavy eyelids for a while. "You believe you can become my father's bondmate? What would he want with you, demon-slayer?" She sneered. "Now I regret my promise to you. You will never let me have revenge."

"I promised you to help you take back your demons. I never said anything about revenge." Sam looked at the thin line of yarn that seemed to stretched endlessly towards north, towards the horse. They had time, still, for the road was long. "We should prepare," Sam said, looking at Hél as coldly as she was looking at him. "You have my word, Hél. We will help you take back the demons; they don't belong on the upside." Sam followed the horse as it approached, fast as a swordblade cutting through the wind. "We don't know who-"

Sam wasn't able to speak for Hél thrust out her hand, the claw-like fingers clutching at Sam's coat above his heart. "Feel, Sam Winchester. For it might be the last time you are able. My father is coming and there is no escape for you."

"Oh God." Sam fell onto his knees, his heart thundering in his chest, the pain of abandonment, loneliness and fear threatening to rip him apart. "Hél, please."

"You tied yourself to him. Now live with your choice. You might still be alive when he is done with you. Pray to your gods that you are not."

Pressing his hands against his chest, Sam couldn't breathe. He sensed that the sky darkened but he couldn't look up. He curled himself around the pain, grabbing a hand, Dean's maybe, held out to him for comfort. There was only room for the scent of crushed autumn grass and for the excruciating pain as Sam dug his fingers into the damp soil.

"Untie the thread, dammit!" Dean ordered. "Crowley, hurry!" Dean pulled Sam closer, stroking his back, his hair. "Sam, not now... don't." Dean sounded desperate and the way he held on to Sam told exactly how desperate.

Bracing himself, Sam fought to get the pain under control. This was no worse than what Lucifer and Michael had done to him, he could bear it, he could fight it. He had to, for the sake of the universe. "No, Dean, don't," he cried, panting. He pressed his nails into his palms, anything to distract him. Pain to dull pain. "Don't," he begged. "I can do it." Getting up was one of the hardest thing Sam had ever done. The pain inside him was like an immense burden, pressing him down once more on his knees. "No!" he cried, fighting back. "Son of a bitch!" Dean and Cas helped him stand, Cas's fingers working wonders, healing him, easing the deep hurt that had no wound. The pain was still there, almost bearable now, as long as Cas touched him. Sam rode the pain, accepting it; he knew it would be easier if he didn't use his energy to fight it. As Dean's held him tight, he let the pain have its way with him and when it eased a little, he began to see a pattern.

It wasn't _his_ pain, it was someone else's.

Gabriel's.

Sam gasped in surprise and torment. "Dean... I don't think that Gabriel is... I don't think he's evil any longer," Sam said, finally letting go of the tears he'd held back. "Nothing hurts this much if there's no soul," he gasped, forcing himself to look Dean in the eye. "I know. I know how it feels, the pain. Gabriel's got his soul back." Then there was no more, only darkness and this time it came as a blessing.

He came to on the ground. He was lying on a soft woolen cloak, one half pulled over his chest. Someone was stroking his hair tenderly. Sam decided that he could wait a little; he was strangely comfortable and the pain had ceased, leaving only the memory of it in his tense muscles and clenched jaw. Heaving a sigh, he forced himself to relax. Lips, dry and a little chapped, was pressed against his brow and he forced his eyes open, only to meet a pair of tired golden ones.

"Hello, Sam," Gabriel said, and kissed him again.

 

"Are you feeling better, Sam-o?" Gabriel didn't let go. Nothing had ever felt more right than having Sam in his arms. Well, one or two things, but neither as delightfully good as the sensation of Sam's hard body against his. "Good work with the thread of fate, baby."

Sam winced. His chest still hurt and he was rather sure he hadn't signed up for one of Gabriel's roller coaster rides. "Don't be absurd, dude," he growled, entirely without venom. "And don't call me that." Sam didn't feel inclined to get up; after the immense pain, lying on the ground, wrapped in a cloak wasn't half bad. "What's going on?"

"Could ask you the same." Gabriel's eyes glittered dangerously. Mirth or menace... Sam didn't know. "Here I was, taking a ride on a lovely day accompanied by a demon or thousand, and then suddenly I was pulled here by a piece of yarn, one which, as Crowley explained to me, was stolen from a museum in California, no less." Gabriel let out a small laughter before he pulled Sam closer. "Somehow I am not inclined to complain about your interference. You know how I _hate_ it when my family drops by unannounced. My darling big brother, you know the one with the apartment that is practically a _hole_ in the ground-"

"Lucifer?" Sam sat up, eyes wide. "He's free? And the apocalypse?" Sam dug his fingers into Gabriel's silk tunic. Gabriel's tone was light, but Sam could see the pain inside him as clearly as it had been his own. Oh, Crowley certainly knew how to handle a loom. The bond was working a bit too well.

"Not my doing," Gabriel said. "Somehow I found the otherwise so alluring idea of Ragnarok less interesting when I got my soul back." Gabriel didn't look the the least apologetic. "As for dear Lucy, I don't think he's had the time to start anything yet. Busy hunting me, the asshole."

Not exactly Sam's dream scenario. "So now he wants us both? Fuck."

"Gladly, later. I know I'm totally hot, but you have to wait, Winchester. Your dirty urges are not as important as saving the universe. You can have your wicked way with me, after we've dealt with my brother."

Gabriel's tone was teasing and Sam had difficulties sorting out whether Gabriel meant what he said or not. Hell, he had difficulties sorting out what he himself meant, about what was real and what wasn't. Dammit, this was what he was going to deal with for the rest of his... forever. Gabriel. Everything Gabriel was, except that there wasn't any angel left. "I hate you," he sighed, holding on to Gabriel in a way that belied his words. "Can we be un-bonded, please?"

"Nope. Got a free lunch. Intend to eat it." Gabriel paused before he added, " _Slow-ly_ ," forming the two syllables as if he was tasting Sam already. "If you haven't noticed, Sammy-boy, I am not objecting to whatever it is you kids did to pull me back. Should tell you one or two things."

Sure it did. Sam just couldn't figure out which. "How did we-"

"It's called conscience. Got your taste of it, Cas told me. Dunno... I think there might have been a speck left of my soul. You mooks fiddling with the universe and bonds... started an avalanche, rebuilding it. Can't say I'm not grateful. Unpleasant to be a walking, talking iceberg."

"So now you're all good?"

"Never." Gabriel's smile was predatory. "And I still don't have my grace. I'm sorta with the competition now, all Norse god. Still want to back out, that is, if you could?"

Sam _was_ attracted to Gabriel, he was willing to admit it. Now that he had had a closer look; now that he'd seen Gabriel's pain there was tenderness and care added to the attraction. "You're such an idiot," Sam said and couldn't help pressing himself against Gabriel.

"And you're not? I think that's what gets us into situations like this, boy-o. Us, being fools. So, what do you say, should we go kick some angel ass, sweetheart?" Gabriel winked and got up, pulling Sam with him. He might have lost his grace, but he hadn't lost his strength.

"Yes, please, _darling_ ," Sam said sarcastically. "You certainly know how to win a boy's heart."

 

Gabriel let go of Sam reluctantly. He was calm, the mere touch of the man he'd been bound to soothed him in a way that made it hard to stop touching. Gabriel was not in the habit of lying to himself; the dreams about Sam and Gabriel's own preference for tall, dark and handsome made it difficult to even try. He wanted Sam. Discovering that he could have him, just like that, was like getting a reward for his misbehavior. "I have to go grovel a bit. Hél... she..."

"Yeah," Sam said, not judging. Gabriel liked that about him: he knew how family could be. "You do know how to apologize?" He didn't look convinced.

"Technically-"

Sam laughed, full-throated and honest. "Are you sure there's no angel left in you? You guys always say that when you're lying."

Gabriel couldn't stop himself from smiling. Sam had him pegged, in the less than pleasant way. It was a bit pleasing, though, because Gabriel didn't need a boyfriend who didn't stand up to him. "I'll try," he said, and walked away from Sam. Before he talked with his daughter, he had something he needed to do. He walked down to the lake, creating out of thin air a basket with carrots and sweet apples.

Eldjárn was resting, one leg relaxed, head hanging tiredly. The horse looked up as Gabriel approached. "I trust Jo took good care of you," he said, stroking Eldjárn's neck. The horse was dry and the blanket that Gabriel had made for it had kept it warm and dry when the sweat cooled. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it myself; the bond, you see... I couldn't not go to him. To Sam." Gabriel didn't think Eldjárn understood, but it needed to be said. "Thank you for saving me, friend."

Gabriel stayed a while, stroking Eldjárn and feeding him tidbits. This was another kind of bond, one that was formed by their fight together. "I'd like to have you in my stable," Gabriel said. I'll ask Odin if I can have you. That is, if you'd like me to." Gabriel chuckled. He'd just asked a horse to move in with him. Eldjárn pushed him and tried to get to the carrots. "I take it that's a yes," Gabriel said. Of course he couldn't take Eldjárn with him, but he still had a hall and servants in Asgard. Eldjárn would be treated like the king of horses.

He walked back across the meadow, only to find Hél walking towards him. They stopped in the middle, between the lake and the World Tree.

"Father." Hél didn't look pleased. Gabriel couldn't blame her.

There was no need to drag it out. "Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me for what I did to you?" He could argue that Odin was to blame, that he didn't know what he was doing. He could argue that he'd been lost in the soullessness, in the sudden need for power, but Gabriel liked how his soul felt, despite the pain of being decent.

"No, but I will not seek revenge. I know you, Loki. You are never going to stop. It is become a habit. Begetting my brothers and me? It was merely convenient. We were gifts for Odin, penance for your evil deeds."

There was that. Gabriel couldn't deny it. "I'm sorry. I've never been much of a thinker, and less of a father. But I would never deliberately harm you, Hél."

"Give me my demons and your debt is paid."

"That might take a bit of work," Gabriel said. "You do know that we have to catch an angel first?"

Hél nodded once. "He will take them from me if he can? To use my people for his nefarious scheme? For Ragnarok?"

"Yes. For the apocalypse. I don't think he cares what we call it."

"He needs to be contained. The Judeo-Christians? They had him caged?"

"In Hell. Didn't hold."

Hél's smile would have scared lesser gods. "I have room for him. My demons will never bow to such a creature and the angel Lucifer has no power in my domain."

Gabriel might not be the best parent in the universe, but right there, that instant, he loved his daughter. He could see the clever scheming, the touch of malice mixed with mischief in her, so like himself. If they lived through this, he'd make an effort in the future to be a better father. Hél was family and he'd forgotten. "You have a plan?"

"Of course."

 

They all followed Hél to the gates of Hel. Gabriel was oddly proud of his daughter; she was the queen of demons, yes, but she was a capable woman, resourceful and strong. One day she might forgive him. Until then, Gabriel would happily take what he could get--and this time not demons that didn't belong to him. He watched her go, a black-clad goddess, into the darkness of the underworld.

"I might have lost edge," Gabriel whispered to Sam. "I think I'm getting soft," he confessed, reaching down to caress Sam's hand. Sam merely looked at him without saying anything. "Perhaps not." Gabriel said, the Trickster smile flashing. "I hope she returns safely. And before her demons do, or we're screwed."

"Would probably have been better if you hadn't tried to kill some of them," Sam mused. "On the other hand..."

"My sentiment, exactly," Gabriel said. "Not the best of ideas, I admit."

"Pray they like you better than Lucifer," Dean said. "He isn't exactly the poster boy for demon preservation, so you might win that popularity contest."

"At least I wasn't trying to start an apo-"

"Right. It was Ragnarok, and we still haven't stopped it. But if it makes you feel better it isn't _called_ the apocalypse. Works the same way, or did I misunderstand the part where the universe goes down in flames?" Dean swatted Sam on the shoulder. "Let's go get ready. For whatever comes."

"Let's hope the Halo Patrol does. Or I'll feel the need to quote Gabriel: we're screwed." They might be screwed either way. There was little hope for their small army. Even with Hél's demons and Joshua's angels, Lucifer would be hard to take down. Close to impossible. "You think Hel's plan's gonna work?" Sam asked Gabriel. He didn't look forward to standing against Lucifer. It helped that the bond worked; it felt reassuring. Even without his angel side, Gabriel was strong.

Maybe it would be enough to keep Lucifer at bay.

Gabriel sensed Sam's anxiety. "I've died to protect you before," he murmured, entangling his fingers with Sam's. "I'll do it again, Sam-o."

"I'd rather you didn't," Sam replied. "I'd like to... I'd like to have you with me."

"Aw, ain't that sweet." Gabriel's eyes lit up as he looked up at Sam. "I'll do my best. Being dead is a bore."

"Weapons, dude!" Dean was impatient. "Could we do the lovebird thing _after_ we save the world."

Sam and Gabriel shouldn't have looked at each other, for the longing looks that Dean sent Cas occasionally could set fire to water, and they both laughed. It relieved the tension somewhat, not that a battle with Lucifer was a pleasant prospect, no matter how you looked at it. Not all of them would walk out alive unless miracles and Hél happened, preferably at the same opportune time. 

They emptied the duffel that Sam had brought. Jo got the Colt and Dean held on to his knife. Neither of the weapons would do anything but give them a few seconds while Lucifer recovered but it was better than nothing. Remotely better. Sam picked up Thor's hammer, hoping it would have some power. It earned him a look from Gabriel who clearly recognized the weapon. Gabriel had his ancient sword, not a modern weapon but one he'd had from his creation, just as strong and much prettier. If death could be pretty. They filled their pockets with bags of salt and bottles of holy water. Dean went over to the loom to see what Castiel and Crowley were doing, other than attempting to escape Pam's hands. There was still work to be done. Every time the shuttle moved through the weft, the norns strengthened the fate of man. The faster they worked, the more force they'd have against their enemy, securing humankind as best they could.

"Sam?" Gabriel took the opportunity, now that they were left alone. He wanted to talk with Sam before they had to fight. "Please?" Gabriel held out his hand for Sam to take. The bond made it feel natural, as if they'd always been like that, comfortable with each other. It wasn't false, fake. The loom and the thread of fate and the bonds that could be made there enhanced only what was already there. Gabriel had known that he wanted Sam. Sam had been his favorite human, even before he died and his rebirth had not changed that fact. If Sam reacted to the bond, it only meant that Sam had feelings, too.

A sense of deep, heavenly happiness filled Gabriel. Sam had feelings for him and if they consummated the bond it would be forever.

They walked around the World Tree, Sam's much larger hand in Gabriel's small.

"We go to war, Sam." Gabriel wanted to tell Sam how he felt before unsaid words would forever stay unsaid. Gabriel would stand next to Sam, Heaven's warlord, and Lucifer would go for them first. "Tonight I might be gone."

Looking so very sad, Sam nodded. Time was too brief for lies. "Yes. All of us might." His words were few; the way he looked at Gabriel told multitudes.

"When I was without my soul," Gabriel said, "I thought of you. I dreamed about you." He laughed softly. "You'd like to know what?"

Sam slid a hand down Gabriel's arm. "You're a pervert."

"Oooh, kill the mood, why don't you, Sam-o?" Pulling Sam into his arms, Gabriel nuzzled Sam's neck. "Yeah, I'm a pervert and I dreamed about you. Some of it I'd like to try." Gabriel kissed Sam's neck and the way Sam's breath hitched pleased him very much. "Letting you know, Winchester, that I wanted you before the bond. I'm not here because of it."

"Mmm," Sam managed, entangling his fingers in Gabriel's hair. "Dean says you have a perky ass. I agreed. Before the bond."

"You took me for my ass? Oh, that's rich! I can work with that."

"Your way of telling me you love me?" Sam teased. "You should probably work on your pick-up lines."

"Not yet I don't. But survive and we'll get there. Would Tuesday suit you?"

"I'm free on Tuesday." Sam grinned. "I'll put it in my calendar: _Tuesday, fall in love with Gabriel_."

"Deal, then?"

"Deal."

They looked at each other for a moment. "God," Sam moaned, Gabriel grabbing his coat and shoving him up against the tree. The trunk was rough against his back, and so were Gabriel's hands, warm against Sam's skin.

"Kiss me," Gabriel demanded, his voice velvet and full of promises. "Maybe we can fit in the falling in love before we fight."

"Suits me," Sam sighed, pulling Gabriel in for the kiss. Gabriel kissed like he behaved, confident and forceful and with interesting little moves. Hips rubbed against Sam's thigh as Gabriel pushed his tongue down Sam's throat, warm licks of a slick tongue against his cheeks, over his teeth. Sam kissed back, not afraid to be rough; Gabriel wasn't exactly made of glass. Sam hardened, his jeans feeling tight. Gabriel's hands moved down, cupping Sam's ass. Sam breathed hotly into Gabriel's mouth, sharing the moan with him. The earth could move, the sky could fall and Sam couldn't care less as long as he could keep kissing Gabriel.

Then the earth moved, waves of dirt writhing under them, the earth in pain as they were thrown against the tree, then pushed forward, the ground turning itself inside out.

"Fuck! Did _we_ do that?" Sam pulled Gabriel close, leaning against the World Tree for support. "Fuck!"

Gabriel was less enthusiastic. "No. First of all, me kissing you? Much bigger earthquake. I'm just that good."

"And modest." Sam was worried now, Gabriel didn't look as confident as he usually did. There was reason to worry. "So?"

"When the demons turned against me... This was what happened. Wings and the earth rippling." He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Sam's, ever so softly. "This is it, lover-boy. What we've waited for with baited breath." Gabriel cupped Sam's face between his hands. "I'm sorry. I told you before. I will tell you again: I swear, Sam, that I will defend you with all I have, with my life." Gabriel's heart throbbed with pain, the premonition of the pain he'd feel if he lost what he'd won. "Swear that you'll stay alive. If he takes you, I will come for you." Defiantly Gabriel looked into Sam's eyes. He no longer looked small and fragile. "He can never have you. You are _mine_."

"I-" Sam knew that being dead wouldn't help him. Lucifer would bring him back. "I swear." He could survive the battle. He could survive Lucifer. He had Dean and Gabriel. He had Cas. They'd all come for him. Still, Gabriel's vow meant more to Sam. He knew it was the pure truth. Dean was his brother and he loved him beyond sense. Cas was his friend and Sam would do anything for him. But Gabriel... "I'm yours," Sam said and felt in his heart how true it was. He could fall in love with Gabriel as easy as that, fall in love stupidly, senselessly in love. "Yours. Now let's go kick the bastards in the face."

"My man," Gabriel said and drew his sword.

 

The earthquake was indeed a harbinger of doom. Behind it demons came, thousands of demons marching under the command of the former general Mandsbane. The demon army moved quickly towards them, too many demons for them to kill, too many to escape. Crowley, Cas and Pam prepared to defend the loom.

Jo, Ellen and Dean came to stand with Sam at the World Tree. "We need to protect Midgard and the other realms," Gabriel said. "We cannot allow them to go through the tree to other worlds. We must contain them until we know whether Lucifer has taken command. Let's pray that Hél returns in time."

They were looking death in the eye, Sam knew. They all knew. Grim faces. Tension.

They were waiting. There was nothing else to do. The earthquakes stopped and a deadly silence fell upon the meadow.

A raven screamed.

Then huge white wings filled the horizon, thunder filled the air, lightnings ripped the sky into pieces. A flash of snow-white light, blinding. All Sam could make out was a dark shape against the pure white. The shape walked closer, the light fading.

"I've been looking for you, Sam," Lucifer said, his decaying vessel pulling apart at the seams. "I need you."

This was Gabriel's moment. He knew it, knew it before it happened. He, too, stepped forward to meet his brother. "I could say something cool, like _Thou shall not pass,_ " Gabriel said, raising his sword. "I won't. Instead I'll make it very clear to you, bro, that you are _never_ going to take Sam Winchester. He is mine, and you know how I am, I don't let other kids play with my things."

Looking very sad, Lucifer glared at Gabriel. "I am disappointed in you, Gabriel. You should have stayed dead." Lucifer frowned, managing to look as if he actually had cause for feeling offended. "Sam. You said yes to me. You're my vessel."

"Yeah, yeah," Gabriel said and sighed. "See, this is how it goes: you are not going to pass. You are not going to take Sam, and if you try, I am going to smack your bitchy ass back into the cage whether you like it or not."

"Awfully brave of you, little brother. It won't work."

"This is my 'I don't fucking care what you think' face," Gabriel said, pointing. "Giddy up, bro, and let's dance. If I die, so be it. At least I got to smack you first. You are touching my humans only when I'm dead. That goes for all of them."

"Let's get to it, then." Lucifer raised his wings, almost ripping the vessel apart.

Gabriel sent Sam a look. God, he wished he'd live. "Bye, Sam-o," he whispered, gathering what courage he had.

Gabriel raised his sword for the first blow. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for oblivion.

Then yet another lightning flashed golden. A warm light, that of a hot summer day surrounded them all. Gabriel staggered; pain deep and cruel and blinding coursed through him; it felt like knives in his back. He stumbled again, pushing up, sword in hand. His balance was off and he stretched, getting back on his feet.

"Gabriel!" Sam's voice was subdued. "Gabriel," he said again, as if in awe. "Your..."

Wings!

Golden wings arching upwards, reflecting the daylight. Huge wings, powerful wings. And grace, his grace! Gabriel gasped in surprise and happiness. "Oh, man, I'm going to smack a bitch!" Gabriel laughed. And he walked towards Lucifer, filled with the joy of righteousness, with the fire of bringing justice to the deserving. He'd been God's most fierce soldier and he could feel it again, the pleasure of doing God's work.

In the branches of Ash Yggdrasil, Huginn and Muninn cried out their appreciation. Maybe it was the wings. The ravens took off, circled once and dove to attack, black wings against white, when Gabriel struck for the first time. A handful of white feathers hovered, then fell to the ground, ash.

Gabriel stepped back, assessing the situation. As Lucifer's cold light faded, Gabriel spotted a thread tied to Lucifer's vessel. "The power drain," Gabriel said, wondering.

From behind the tree, Crowley had seen it too. "Cut it, Gabe! Give the power back to the demons, Drain him, drain Lucifer!"

"Easy for you to say," Dean growled and stepped up next to Gabriel. "Place for one more?" Dean dove for the thread, demon knife at the ready when Gabriel took another swing at Lucifer. He grabbed the thread, yanking the knife through it.

Lucifer let out a pained cry before he could control himself. He wiped a drop of blood off his brow, putting his face back into the usual overbearing expression. "Boys, boys, boys." Lucifer managed to sound so mild. "I am going to kill you all. And then I'll bring you back and let Sam watch when I torture you. Give in and I'll spare you."

Sam had had it. "No. And it's the usual shit with you, Lucy. I don't dance, and it's not about you, you selfish prick. It's about the entire universe, and dammit if we'll allow you to tip it over and turn it inside out you stupid, motherfucking son of a bitch!"

Lucifer blinked."You've been with my little brother for how long? Half a day, and you're like that." Lucifer sighed, a benevolent father-figure. "Humans."

From above, Huginn and Muninn attacked again, the flutter of their wings so loud it became overwhelming. The sound of gates springing open added to the noise, heavy iron crashing against the hard earth.

Hél and Joshua's angels had finally arrived.

"You got our small gift of grace, I see," Joshua said to Gabriel, then turned to look at Lucifer calmly. "Lucifer, my fallen brother. I ask you only this time. Please, return to your cage and let us save the work our Father made. This way we can restore balance."

"No," Lucifer said.

"Then I have something for you," Hél said stepping forward, Odin on her left side and a handsome man on her right. She held in her hands a thin chain.

"Baldur?" Lucifer laughed. "The god of light? I've killed him once and I don't mind doing it again. He's waste."

"No," Odin said, "he really isn't. He will rise after my death, after I have been swallowed by Fenrir the wolf as the prophecy has foretold."

"Really," Lucifer said. "You don't look very eaten to me."

"That is," Odin said almost gleefully, "because we took some time rewriting it."

"We did," Hél agreed. "Because when Baldur rises from the dead, from my domain in Hel, then Ragnarok is over. So watch us, Angel, preventing what you thought you could start."

"The apocalypse, woman. I don't care about your pagan catastrophes."

"Oh, we thought of that," Gabriel said. "Can't start apocalypses from a hole in the ground, can you?" Gabriel looked at his daugher. "If you please, Hél, to take back your demon army?"

She took a step and placed the thin chain in Gabriel's hand. "Father. Thank you. I'm ready."

Sam had never seen Gabriel look so fierce. He watched as Gabriel wrapped the chain around his arm, not knowing what would happen.

Gabriel smiled. "Goodbye, brother." He pulled the chain once. "Fenrir! Sic him!"

A roar like thunder rolled and a gigantic wolf came charging from the depths of Hel, in three powerful strides it was at Lucifer's neck. Lucifer was thrown backwards but managed to stand against the attacker.

"Jormungand," Gabriel cried, thrusting his sword into the dirt. "Now!"

And the World Serpent rose from the seas and the earth and with its fangs it dug a hole in the ground so deep it reached Hel. Gabriel pulled out the loose end of Fenrir's chain, using it like a whip. The chain wrapped itself around Lucifer's arm, impossibly tight.

Lucifer stepped back, preparing for another attack, his attention on Gabriel.

"Fuck, I'm so, so tired of your shit." Sam sighed, stepped up to Lucifer and swung Thor's hammer with as much force as he could.

Lucifer went down.

"Quickly! Fenrir! Jump!" The great wolf raised its head, red eyes set on Gabriel. "Thank you, son," Gabriel said and then Fenrir ran, fast as the wind, throwing himself into the hole that Jormungand had made, Lucifer wrapped in the chain that was made of the roots of mountains, the breath of fish; of bird spittle and of the sound of cat's paws and of a woman's beard, the strongest chain ever made in the universe.

Again the earth moved, covering the hole in the ground. The meadows rippled and the sky cleared and the World Tree shook its leaves as the universe shook its fur, and everything fell back in place.

Lucifer would never be free again.

They had won!

Odin insisted on a celebration. Although Sam wanted most of all to return to Earth, saving the universe wasn't an everyday event, at least not yet. It was cause for celebration. Even Joshua and his angels agreed to participate. Joshua wanted to taste Heiðrún's mead and Idun's apples; Inias was interested in learning about the Ravens. Sam sat through it for the sake of his friends; mostly he wanted to be back in a motel with Dean, or better, in a motel on a bed with Gabriel. The toasts and the speeches and all the fuss was too much. Because of the bond, many of the gods and goddesses came to wish them happiness, and Sam was getting tired of being polite. 

"Wanna go outside for a little?" Gabriel asked, sensing Sam's exhaustion. "Let's walk to the lake."

They walked quietly into the night, watching stars that Sam didn't know. They didn't speak, merely enjoyed being alive and together.

They returned to the party, only to find the norns' hall empty. "There's no one here," Sam said, looking around in the hall. Ten minutes ago there had been a feast and hundreds of guests. "Where did everybody go?" The oil lamps were still burning brightly and the fire in the middle of the huge longhouse was still roaring. Servants had cleared the tables and put them away. The raised benches along the walls were empty, only the sheepskin covers were left.

"It's tradition," Gabriel said. "If we'd been back on Earth, we'd have the honeymoon suite." He looked up at Sam, biting his lip. "Although we'd not have to show off the blood-stained sheets at breakfast. Don't think they'd find it amusing at the Plaza." He tapped his lip. "Then again, they know me, so-" He'd stayed at the New York Plaza times enough for the staff to know him well--and to know what to expect.

Honeymoon? "You mean-" Sam wasn't especially self-conscious, only it was a bit like- No, it was _exactly_ like an arranged marriage. Except for the fact that Sam was attracted to Gabriel. "We have to-"

"If you can't say it, you probably shouldn't do it, Sam-o. You signed the contract even before you had my asked for my accept, and you knew what you got. Yes, we have to. That's the general idea of a bonding. If not... You'd like to face my angry brothers, seeking revenge for your refusal of me?"

"Not really. I've had enough angry siblings to last me a lifetime, thank you very much." Sam sat down on one of the fur-covered benches. He was full, he was a little bit drunk on mead and even more drunk on Gabriel's company. It wouldn't be a chore to complete the bond. "I don't want Lucifer to have me," Sam admitted. "But you..."

"I," Gabriel said. "I can have you." He sat down next to Sam. "We are going to spend eternity together, Sam. There will be no backing out when the bond is complete." Gabriel didn't want to give Sam a way out. They had both sworn to this, but getting out of it wasn't impossible. Not with Lucifer tied to Fenris below. Sam would be dead and in Heaven before Lucy got out. Gabriel was so used to taking what he wanted, doing with people what he wanted. Funny how he'd been taught a lesson. The irony of it wasn't wasted on Gabriel. He'd tried to teach Sam a lesson, and in return he'd received one so much more important. Family made you vulnerable, yes, but it also made you stronger.

"No." That was all Sam wanted to say. He wasn't going to leave Gabriel. He couldn't exactly say why, only that he didn't want to.

"No?" Gabriel could feel his heart beat faster. "Let me be honest with you, Sam-o. I've dreamed about you. About how it could be between us. I don't want you to-" Gabriel hesitated. He was venturing into dangerous waters, no longer one of the strongest creatures in the universe. He was but a being facing the man he was falling in love with. "I don't want you to leave, but if you have regrets, then-" Gabriel's blood was rushing through his veins; his heart beat so fast that it was almost on its way up his throat.

Sam frowned, looking into Gabriel's golden eyes. They shone as brightly as the fire, and they were just as warm. Sam had always liked them, Gabriel's eyes. Fire and passion and mirth and humor. Everything he liked about the archangel was written so clearly there. Mirror of the soul. "What part of 'no' escapes your understanding?" he murmured, moving closer to Gabriel. Sam really couldn't explain how it had happened, but he _wanted_ Gabriel, and not just because of the oath he'd sworn or because of the threat Lucifer would always present. 

"The part where you tell me you'll stay. The part where you tell me why." Gabriel had difficulties breathing. Sam Winchester was impressive for a human, a gorgeous specimen. And he was also the guy that Gabriel dreamed of at night. It was his smile he'd seen every time he'd felt closer to his soul, to being what he once were. Gabriel loved humans as much as his father, but this one human? Sam was... perfect. It had nothing to do with being human or angel or god. There was just Sam, his brilliant mind, his sweetness, his courage and his devotion. His passion. "Tell me why," Gabriel demanded, his shoulder leaning against Sam's. "Because right now... I want you, Sam. Here, now. I want to consummate our bond. I became one with the universe. I was nothing and everything, and every time I was close enough to _being_ , what I thought about was you. I... I might have fallen in love with you at some point." Gabriel found it impossible to hide behind his usual facade. This, the thing between him and Sam, was too important. "The truth, no lies, no tricks, no pretense." He leaned in, looking up at Sam. "I want to be with you. I want to protect you. I want to make love to you and I want to fuck you so hard you come, screaming my name. I want to wake up with you tomorrow, knowing that you want the same. Forever is a very long time, Sam. We need to be on the same wavelength in this."

Sam chuckled, giddy from warmth and mead and the sensation of Gabriel's body against his. He turned a little, pressing closer. "You're in love with me? But you tortured me for-"

"You know what they say, Winchester, that you only tease the one you love, right?" Gabriel hesitated for a moment before he raised his hand and ran a finger down Sam's cheek. He couldn't stop himself from shivering at the feeling of the sharp jaw and the slight roughness of stubble. "Okay, so I might have gone overboard on that. Does it help if I say I'm sorry?" Squinting, sending Sam his most charming smile, Gabriel held his breath, wanting Sam to forgive him.

"No. It really doesn't," Sam purred, caught in the way Gabriel so outrageously tried to worm his way into Sam's heart. Gabriel made a good job on that. "You're going to work much harder for it." Sam could feel the touch still burning on his cheek. He leaned forward, down, stopping an inch before his lips touched Gabriel's. "Then perhaps-"

He was cut off by a kiss that was nothing like any other kisses that he'd had before. If fire and ice and lust could blend together, that was how it felt when Gabriel grabbed him, a strong arm around his waist, a firm hand around his neck. A need so great that Sam almost fainted with it rushed through him, his body longing for Gabriel's touch. It was as if there was some kind of magnetism that forced them together, a want that made Sam put aside any remain of doubt. "Yeah, like this," he whispered when Gabriel broke the kiss to let Sam breathe. "More!" He knew he should stop, let Gabriel have the forgiveness he'd asked for; Sam had sensed the seriousness behind the lighthearted banter. Not now, later. Now there were more pressing issues, one of them hidden behind Sam's tight jeans. He'd known that Gabriel was passionate, that he was experienced and _Jesus_ , if one kiss could do that, then how would it feel when they got their clothes off and Gabriel let loose everything he had?

"More?" Gabriel smiled, his lips sliding over Sam's. "You can have more. I wanna do bad things with you." Gabriel didn't think they had use for tenderness, not yet. That was for later, when they'd fucked, when he'd fucked Sam into Heaven and back. When he'd tasted Sam, when the thirst for him was quenched enough for Gabriel to be able to bloody think about anything but Sam Winchester under him, naked, fucked raw and open on his cock. "Ready for me to turn up the heat?"

" _Fuck_ , yes!" And Sam was willing to help, oh, dammit, he was willing to help. "Getting too hot with the clothes on, right?" he growled and pulled at Gabriel's shirt. "Off."

"Thought you'd never ask." Gabriel ripped off the shirt, his hands on Sam's clothes, ripping at them, not caring that seams tore and buttons were pulled off. He pushed Sam's shirt off the broad shoulders, gasping at the sight of his chest. Gabriel trailed his fingers down Sam's collarbone, to the tattoo. He traced the circle, pulling Sam into another deep kiss. The slick warmth of Sam's lips, his eager tongue made Gabriel moan into Sam's mouth, his body responding eagerly. "So, Sam, are we on the same wavelength?" Gabriel managed, kissing his way from Sam's dimples to his neck.

Sam was very much on to whatever wavelength Gabriel wanted that instant. It wasn't just desire. It was the feeling of the entire damned universe being set right when they touched, the sensation of perfection when Gabriel's tongue licked inside his mouth. They were so very much on the same wavelength, for Sam realized that _forever_ with his lover wouldn't be time enough. "Yes! Please, Gabriel!"

It was a fever pitch, a flood of want that couldn't be kept at bay any longer. The heat of it left Sam breathless even before his back hit the fur-covered bench. "Yes," he moaned, "Gabriel... oh, fuck. I want you." Somehow his clothes were gone and then Gabriel was over him, moving with him, their desire flaring brightly. It felt so right when Gabriel slid into him, easing his way with oil-slick fingers before he finally pressed inside. Gabriel thrust into him, shallow, short thrusts to begin with, his mouth moving down Sam's chest, small bites and wet kisses on his neck, little harsh licks on his nipples. Gabriel was confident, so delightfully sure of himself, whispering filthy words in Sam's ear when he moved up a bit, going deeper, harder.

Gasping for air, feet dug deep into the fur, Sam moved with Gabriel, his hands sliding down Gabriel's back to the spot from which his wings had emerged. Sam moaned at the thought, huge golden wings, so powerful, so beautiful. He let Gabriel do what he liked, trying to keep up the rhythm. Gabriel wasn't gentle and that was just how Sam liked it. "God, fuck... please!" It was impossible to keep quiet when Gabriel pounded into him expertly, knowing exactly how to turn and how to angle. Sam's pleasure became too much, and clinging to Gabriel he came, his cock rubbing against Gabriel's stomach.

"Sam, fuck!" Gabriel, too, let go as his chest was smeared with Sam's hot come. He didn't want to hold back, not when Sam's strong, beautiful body moved so deliciously under his. The tight hole pulsed, gripping and releasing, driving Gabriel to the edge. Sam's face was contracted in pleasure, white teeth biting into red lips. A hand in Sam's hair and Gabriel pulled, stretching Sam's neck. He kissed it, licking a long line down to his shoulder. Gabriel bit down, moaning in ecstasy as his orgasm hit. He slammed in deep, then fucked Sam with short, sharp stabs as he came inside him. The pleasure was deeper and more satisfying than anything, anybody, that Gabriel had ever had.

"Like this, Sam." Gabriel sighed and found Sam's lips. "Exactly like this, and there won't be forever enough for us."

 

They didn't sleep at all that night. There were kisses to share, and they made love until the sun moved across the sky and the birds started singing. In between the sex and the kisses, they just lay there in each other's arms, resting. Covered by warm sleeping furs, the fire slowly burning down, Sam had never felt better. "What do you want to do, Sam?" Gabriel asked. "Unlimited possibilities. We can travel to any planet you'd like? Any dimension. If you want to live in Heaven, we can... I can surely talk Joshua into letting you in, Winchester. Gabriel rested his head on one arm, looking down at his lover. "Christ, the things I do for you. We can even move into one of your favorite TV series. Just for your entertainment."

"I think you're entertainment enough for me, thanks." Sam pulled Gabriel into a kiss, relishing how perfect it felt when he sucked on Gabriel's tongue and Gabriel made those small, dark moans into his mouth. "You know," Sam said when he finally decided to let Gabriel go, "don't do anything extraordinary on my account, I might think I've gone mad if I have to go through more TV shows. I've had enough of the crazy, Gabriel. For a long while."

"I don't do _normal_ ," Gabriel said, looking smug. "But I might be able to work around the crazy."

Sam's life never got back to normal, although he and Dean got back to hunting. That was the way they were raised, that was the way they knew. They never got to the point of settling down, both having lost taste for apple pie and the life that went with it. Somehow their angels didn't really fit in behind white picket fences. At some point Sam realized it didn't matter. Dean was happy, and so was Sam. 

The motel rooms, however, improved. Gabriel really had talent when it came to impromptu interior design. Sam got so used to living in Gabriel's copy of Hotel Plaza's Royal Suite that it almost felt like home when occasionally they visited the original in New York. Even the butler was the same.


End file.
